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COPYRIGHT DEPOSFT 



THE WINNING SHOT 




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'THE MOST WONDERFUL PUTT (ONE BY TRAVIS) IT HAS EVER BEEN 
MY LOT TO WITNESS" 

It took the slope to the right, wound its way along this raised mound and, wind- 
ing, turning, twisting up-slope and down-slope, it broke in at exactly the 
right spot, and then it plumped squarely into the center of the cup" 



THE WINNING SHOT 



BY 

JEROME D. TRAVERS 

Open Champion and Four Times Amateur Golf 
Champion of the United States 

AND 

GRANTLAND RICE 



V 




Illustrated 



Garden City New York 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

1915 



G^t 









Copyright, 191$, by 
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

All rights reserved, including that of 

translation into foreign languages, 

including the Scandinavian 



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COPYRIGHT, 1914, IOI5, THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING COMPANY 

SEP 181915 



THE P 



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CI.A411571 



DEDICATED TO THE DUFFER 

This is the substance of our Plot — 
For those who play the Perfect Shot, 
There are ten thousand who do not. 

For each who comes to growl and whine 
Because one putt broke out of line 
And left him but a Sixty-Nine, 

At least ten thousand on the slate 
Rise up and cheer their blessed fate 
Because they got a Ninety-Eight. 

For each of those who rarely sees. 
Amid his run of Fours and Threes, 
A Trap or Bunker — if you please — 

Ten thousand Blighted Souls are found 
Who daily pummel, pierce, or pound 
The scourging sand-heaps underground. 



DEDICATED TO THE DUFFER 

Who is it pays the major fee 
For rolling green and grassy tee ? 
Who is it, Reader? — answer me! 

The scattered few in countless clubs 
Who sink their putts as if in tubs, 
Or eke the half a million dubs ? 

He may not have the Taylor Flip — 
He may not know the Vardon Grip — 
He may not Pivot at the Hip — 

And we will say his Follow Through 

Is frequently somewhat askew, 

Or halting, as if clogged with Glue — 

Yet, Splashers in the Wayside Brook, 
To you who foozle, slice, and hook, 
We dedicate This Little Book. 

Not that your Style enthralls the eye 
But that there are, to spring the Why, 
So many more of you to Buy. 



PREFACE 

There has been an abundance of golf literature which 
deals in the technical method of playing each shot. 

But there is a great deal more to golf than any mere 
mechanism of form. There is also a wonderful psychol- 
ogy, an elastic humour, the thrill of many mighty matches 
and miraculous shots that add greatly to its lure. 

There are also many inside tips and various sug- 
gestions a trifle of the beaten path that may furnish 
more real aid to improvement in play than any detailed 
accounts of grip and stance and swing. 

Too often the essential things for improvement in 
play are overlooked in following a certain routine that 
may suit one where it is utterly unfit for another. 

So the object of this book is not to present any definite 
instruction along established lines, but to take a wider 
scope: to range out into golf psychology — to show the 

[vii] 



PREFACE 

value of concentration and control of nerves — and to 
entertain, if possible, with stories of championship 
matches and champion players; to show how these 
matches were won with certain shots or by unusual 
temperaments. 

It has been the good fortune of one of the co-authors 
to have played against or to have seen the best golfers 
in Great Britain and America; which has made it pos- 
sible to get first-hand information of how the Hiltons, 
Balls, Vardons, Travises, Ouimets, and Evanses go 
about their work of beating Par and reducing Bogie to 
subjection; to show what the game's greatest stars have 
done, and along broader lines, about how they do it — 
their strength and their weaknesses — with the entire 
scheme of things surrounded with incident and anecdote 
and opinion that help to illustrate the situation. 

The idea is to both instruct and entertain — to follow 
the way of the Ancient Green in its devious windings, 
and turn the spotlight on those things that should appeal 
to the golf er' s fancy — not only of the low-handicap man, 
but of the duffer as well — as long as he has caught the 

I viii ] 



PREFACE 

spirit of the game or has felt, even in slight measure, its 
insistent appeal. Those playing golf in America are 
now verging upon the million, including all varieties 
of life and existence, and to these " The Winning 
Shot" is offered in the hope that it may help to increase 
the lure of the Nineteenth Hole. 

The Authors. 



fix] 



CONTENTS 

Preface vii 

CHAPTER PAGB 

Aye, MacPhearson ? 
I. The Winning Shot 3 

Sing On 

The Conundrum of the Golf Shops 
II. Getting Back on Your Game . . 32 

Song of the Nineteenth Hole 

III. Wonder Shots That Won Golf 

Championships 56 

The Duffer's Requiem 

The Rime of the Ancient Golfer 

IV. The Secret of Steady Golf . . 86 

Three Up on Ananias 

V. Golf and the Fickle Goddess . . 108 

Double-crossing Tradition 

VI. Heroes of Wood and Iron . . .121 

A Round of the Course 
A Byronic Appeal 
VII. Vardon — Greatest Golfer . . . 149 

Aye, Mon 
VIII. "Boy— Bring Me a Niblick!" . . 174 

The Golfer Speaks 
Beating 'Em to It 
IX. The High Cost of Golfing . . 187 

The Golf Widow Speaks 
X. When Lovely Woman Stoops to Golf 212 

xi 



Xll CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

The Duffer's Dream 
Rare Species 
XI. Golf Nerve Under Fire . . . 224 

The Ancient and Royal 
The Duffer to the Pro 
XII. Golf Vs. Business 251 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

The most wonderful putt (one by Travis) it 
has ever been my lot to witness . Frontispiece *" 

FACING PAGE 

Francis Ouimet putting in his match against 
Vardon and Ray 22 

Then I became ambitious for even more dis- 
tance and began overswinging .... 42 

Lifting the ball with the body and arms — not 
letting the club do the lifting 88 

My fault lay in the fact that as I started my 
club back, I bent my wrist too far, breaking 
the swing 104 

More bad shots are made from " looking up " 
— not looking at the ball — than any other 
one factor 1 40 

"Boy — bring me a niblick!" 176 

A slice that won a championship . . . . 1 96 

A 400-yard hole in two! 196 



AYE, MACPHEARSON? 
("Golf has become too easy." — Mr. Herbert Fowler.) 

u Golj has become too easy?" Aye, MacPhearson, 
We know, we know with ninety-sixes net, 

Who first get bad and later on get worse' n 
We ever dreamed a half-blind rat could get; 

Who top our drive into some ghastly grotto 

Or -plump a mashie where some trap lies hid, 

Who down the green know but one dismal motto: 
"Slip me a niblick, kid." 

"Golf has become too easy?" Aye, aye, Sandy — 
We ken, we ken who swat one from the tee 

And shoot our trusty iron for a dandy, 
Some seven paces from a perfect " three" 

And then we grab our likewise trusty putter 
And putt and putt and putt around the cup 

Until we find, as we profanely mutter: 

" The other guy's 'six up/ " 

[i] 



AYE, MACPHEARSON? 
"Golf has become too easy?" Oh! you Fowler — 

rarest optimist of all the breed; 
No need for you to rush the cheering growler, 

Or lamp this page for any uplift screed; 
If some uncanny fate, its purpose wreaking, 

Should some day drop you to the burning wold, 
Our ears shall be attuned to hear you shrieking: 
"Hell has become too cold!** 



[2] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
I 

THE average golfer starts out upon his round 
of the course with an average of seven clubs, 
which are likely to be driver, brassie, cleek, 
mid-iron, mashie, niblick, and putter. 

If each one of these clubs was of equal value in the 
task of securing the proper score, upon the basis of 
ioo per cent, for the round, each club would represent 
a playing usefulness of about 14 per cent. But this 
is where the system cracks. There is one club in 
the bag that has a greater value than 14 per cent. 
It is the shortest, lightest, and smallest club of the 
entire lot, the simplest and yet the hardest to play, 
the club that many unknowns can handle well and 
yet a club that baffles an Evans and a Vardon from 
one year into another. I refer to the putter, and I 

[3] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

put its playing value at 45 per cent, as against 55 
per cent, for the remaining six, seven, or eight clubs 
needed for the round. 

"Forty-five per cent, is too high a rating for 
any one club/' a number of experts have said to 
me; but if I have made a mistake here it is on 
the short side. I only wish some of those who 
underrate the tremendous value of the putter had 
been at Brookline when the Open Championship of 
America was at stake. If they had, they would have 
gone well beyond my computation and put the value 
of the putter at 75 per cent. Alec Smith, the 
well-known professional, kept track of different 
scores turned in through this tournament, and he 
figures that of every one hundred shots played, 
seventy-five were taken on the putting green. It 
was no uncommon sight there to see crack golfers 
reach greens over four hundred yards away in two 
perfectly played shots, and then scatter three or four 
putts all over the green before the bottom of the cup 
was reached. I saw one crack professional get 

[4] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
within four feet of a four-hundred-yard hole in two 
shots and finally get down in six. He missed his 
three, went well below the cup, and then took three 
more coming back. And he was no exception to 
the rule. 

THE CASE OF CHICK EVANS 

Undoubtedly "the winning shot" in golf is the 
putt. There can be no question about it. Take the 
case of Charles Evans, Jr., of Chicago, and myself. 
Our game, our different styles of play, have been 
compared from one end of the country to the other 
for the past three or four years. But the Fates were 
kinder to me than they were to Evans. They gave 
Evans a perfect driving style from the tee and almost 
always sure results. They gave him control of the 
mid-iron and the mashie, where in my opinion he is 
unexcelled by any amateur I have ever seen. They 
took him in triumph from the tee up to the green — a 
perfect golfing machine — and then, right at the finish, 
they denied him the simplest, yet often the hardest, 
shot in the bag — the putt. 

[5] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

On the other hand, the Fates have often led me in a 
roundabout way before I came within sight of the 
green. My weakness has been with the wood, the 
club that counts less in general value. But I have 
been strongest where Evans has been weakest, and 
the comparative values of driving and putting can 
be shown in the statement that I have won four 
Amateur Championships, while the very fine young 
Chicago golfer has yet to win his first. In match 
play he had every shot except one — and that hap- 
pened to be "the winning shot" of golf — the shot 
that makes up for a bad drive, a poor mashie pitch, 
or a poor approach, by calling for but one putt to the 
green at the moment of need. 

SOME WONDER WORK 

During the last championship at Garden City I 
watched Evans practising one morning. I watched 
with some envy the very fine way he drove a dozen 
perfectly hit balls from the tee, straight down the 
course. Then I saw him station his caddie one 

[6] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

hundred and fifty yards away, and play twenty-five 
iron shots in succession within six feet of where that 
boy stood. Shot after shot left the club on a perfect 
line and at perfect height, dropping within easy reach 
of the caddie's hand. There wasn't another golfer 
in the tournament who could have approached this 
work. It was almost miraculous. 

And then, a few minutes later on, I saw him putt- 
ing, and I knew then that he still had a lot of trouble 
ahead of him, for even in practice it was easy to see 
that this one shot was still denied him. He lacked 
the confident bearing, and the easy, pendulum swing 
with the right follow through had not yet come. And 
yet, before any one blames Evans for this, it should 
be remembered that the same fault belongs to Harry 
Vardon, the great English professional, who in other 
respects is far and away the grandest golfer of all 
time. If Vardon's putting was up to the rest of his 
game, he could give any golfer alive four strokes and 
romp home in front. If Evans could putt like Walter 
J. Travis it would be foolish to stage an Amateur 

[7] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Championship in this country. The result would be 
written down in advance. 

ouimet's putting 

Francis Ouimet, America's young Open Champion, 
did very fine work at Brookline with wood and 
iron. But with these he was certainly no better 
than Vardon and Ray. He was not so good. But 
he achieved a feat beyond all other record incidents, 
and sent his name spinning on through golfing his- 
tory because, when the time came, he could thump 
the ball into the cup from almost any angle or dis- 
tance on the green. He was putting like a champion, 
and all the wizard work of Vardon and Ray up to the 
greens couldn't offset the young American's ability 
within twenty feet of the cup, where he was 
either "in" or "dead" to the hole on his next 
shot. 

I consider this no fluke, because I know that Oui- 
met is a very fine putter, and one with a wonderful 
temperament for the game. He has a beautiful 

[8] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

putting stroke, stands well over the ball, and with 
the necessary pendulum motion has a perfect follow 
through. If you follow his play you will rarely find 
him short on any putt. He always gives the ball a 
chance, and at Brookline last fall he also gave several 
thousand a series of nervous shocks by the way in 
which he ran on three and four feet past the cup — 
whenever he missed. But he always holed coming 
back, showing that his confidence was supreme. 

HARD FIGHT AHEAD 

When I met Ouimet for the first time at Garden 
City in the 191 3 championship, I had not formed any 
opinion as to the work I had ahead until I saw him 
make his first putt. Then I knew that I had my 
work cut out, for this part of his game impressed me 
at once, and I knew what it meant to meet a high- 
class putter in match play. He soon began dropping 
eight-, ten-, and twelve-footers, and I had all I could 
do to stay with him. In fact, at the end of twenty- 
five holes I was one down with a good chance of 

[9] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

losing the twenty-sixth, until I managed to stick a 
long iron shot up and go down in one putt. 

NEW ANGLE 

There is a new angle in this connection that I 
should like to bring out. We all know that there is 
less of the physical and more of the psychological 
in putting than in any other part of golf. To be 
putting well the golfer must have absolute control of 
his nerves, for nervousness shows more upon the 
green than anywhere else. If a drive is ten feet off 
line no great damage results, as a rule, but if a putt 
is one half of an inch off line the shot is absolutely 
wasted. So it is my belief that a man must conserve 
his nervous force if he is to keep putting well through 
a tournament. 

You may get an example of this by watching 
Mathewson pitch a ball game. He works just about 
hard enough to win. If the Giants give Mathewson 
five or six runs to work on, you never see him trying 
to pitch his arm off for a shut-out. He is content to 

[10] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

take it fairly easy, always keeping his game well in 
hand, but never working at top speed until they be- 
gin to crowd him again. In this way he can keep in 
better shape for emergencies, and his arm won't feel 
the bad effects at his next start. 

It's the same way in golf. I know how hard it is, 
what a strain there is attached, in winning an Ama- 
teur Championship at match play. For this reason 
I pay no attention to the medal-play round except 
to try and qualify safely. I merely take it as it 
comes, not bothering over any missed shots, because 
I am not looking for any medal-score victories. If 
my first match is fairly easy I drift quietly along with 
it, and feel quite content to win by a fairly small 
margin. Then when the actual test comes later on 
in the week, I am still fresh and well able to meet it 
at top form. 

I have kept track of all the amateur champion- 
ships of the United States, and with two exceptions 
I have yet to see the winner of the medal round come 
through and win the championship. These two ex- 

[n] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

ceptions were Harold Hilton at Apawamis, in 191 1, 
and Walter J. Travis many years ago. Hilton won 
the low medal score and also the championship at 
match play. But I can recall no other who has been 
able to do both. Evans has won, as I recall it, five 
of the last seven medal-play rounds. But this has 
worked against him in championship match play. 

It is hard in any game for a man to start off at top 
speed and hold the pace to the end. When a golfer 
wins a medal-play round he has set a fast pace from 
the jump, has already started the drain upon his 
nervous system, and later on in the week, after suc- 
cessive grinds of thirty-six-hole matches, this pace 
will begin to tell. And where this nervous strain 
will show most is likely to be in putting. When a 
man begins to break under the drive and the wear 
and tear of match play, it is generally the putter that 
starts to tell the story. And for this reason I don't 
believe in a golfer starting out to win or try and win 
a medal-play round when his main goal is still six 
days away, six days of heartbreaking, nerve-racking 

[12] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

play, with many moments ahead where he will need 
all the reserve force at his command to control a 
situation. 

THE ART OF PUTTING 

" I know well enough/' remarked a golfer re- 
cently, "that putting is the most valuable part of 
golf. But how can a poor putter learn to become a 
good one?" 

The answer is obvious: By practising, and prac- 
tising only in the right way. You see golfers standing 
on a tee practising driving for an hour or so at a time, 
or putting the same time into iron shots. And then 
perhaps they will practise putting ten or fifteen min- 
utes. When I started golf I spent as much time, or 
more, at putting as I did with all other clubs put to- 
gether. I worked for hours at a time — worked, 
worked, and worked until I obtained confidence in 
my club. I have frequently practised putting all the 
morning, and then have gone out to play in the after- 
noon, when I had the day off for play. 

But at the same time one must practise intelli- 

[13] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

gently. Routine practice without giving any thought 
to the shot will not help nearly so much. 

To become a good putter I believe that a man 
should stand well over the ball, so that he can all the 
easier get the line of the putt. I don't believe in 
stooping over too far, for this is likely to develop 
a feeling of cramped play. And by standing fairly 
erect there isn't the same tendency to jab or stab at 
the ball as there is when one is crouched with the 
putter held low. The good putter should swing the 
club with a pendulum motion, using his hands and 
wrists with the body perfectly still. And by all 
means he should look at the ball and not the hole, 
despite advice given to the contrary. If all golfers 
would practise looking at the ball, looking at the 
back of it, just where the club should strike, they 
would soon find an immediate improvement in this 
part of their game. But most of them, when they 
do practise, forget about this important feature. 
Try this scheme of looking at the ball until the putter 
has started it upon the way to the hole, and you will 

[Hi 



THE WINNING SHOT 

be surprised at the number of strokes you can save 
in a single round. 

The point I am trying to bring out is that the putt 
is the winning shot in golf, the one shot to be devel- 
oped above all others. I don't mean to say that 
driving and iron play are not important. They are, 
of course. But no other two clubs in the bag, com- 
bined, are as important as the putter, in so far as the 
art of scoring is concerned. 



couldn't miss a putt" 



Two men come back together toward the club- 
house from a round at tournament golf. 

Get the loser off to one side and ask him just how 
he managed to get beaten. Nine times out of ten 
he won't even refer to his opponent's good driving 
or his iron play. "Why," he'll say, "the fellow 
couldn't miss a putt. He was holding the ball from 
any old distance or angle. I never had a chance." 

Or, more than likely, he will hand you this: " I was 
playing well enough except that my putting was off. 

[15] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

I took three putts on four greens, and missed three or 
four easy ones I should have landed. Why, if I had 

been putting even fairly well "etc., etc. 

It's always the putter that comes in for most of 
the post-mortem conversation. If a man is putting 
well he is a hard man for any one to beat. If he is 
putting poorly there isn't much chance for him to 
win. 

VARDON VS. McDERMOTT 

Take the case of Vardon against McDermott, 
conceded by most to be the greatest all-round golf- 
ers in England and America respectively. They met 
twice in America in the same competitions. The 
first time was at Shawnee. In that first meeting 
they were about the same from the tee and through 
the fairway up to the putting green. But McDer- 
mott was putting steadily, taking two putts to the 
green only and getting most of his four-footers. Var- 
don's putting, on the other hand, was quite erratic. 
He was uncertain upon three- and four-foot putts 
and uncertain as to getting down in two from fifteen 

[16] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
or twenty feet away. The result was that McDer- 
mott, at the end of seventy-two holes, led the won- 
derful English player by thirteen or fourteen strokes 
— an exceptionally wide margin and all picked up 
in apparently the simplest part of the game. 

In any professional tournament it is always the 
one who is putting that wins the money. There 
is no great difference among the leaders from the 
tee or in their iron play. But on the day of the 
tournament two or three from the bunch will fall 
into a fine putting streak, and they will be unbeat- 
able. And if they are not putting exceptionally 
well they stand very little chance. 

To continue the case of Vardon and McDermott: 
McDermott was playing very good golf at Brook- 
line in the last American Open Championship, about 
as well as he had played at Shawnee the month be- 
fore. But a certain unfortunate incident had arisen 
in connection with a remark McDermott is said to 
have made regarding the two British golfers, and 
the American came in for a certain amount of crit- 

[17] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

icism. The incident was enough to get decidedly 
upon his nerves, and the result immediately showed 
in his putting. This part of his game fell away, a 
part of his wonderful confidence vanished — for there 
never was a more confident golfer in any tourna- 
ment — and McDermott's putting suffered far beyond 
any other part of his game. So in place of leading 
Vardon thirteen or fourteen strokes, it was Vardon 
who led the chief American hope by a fair margin. 
And Vardon was headed off in turn, not by any 
seasoned professional who was master of wood and 
iron, but by a twenty-year-old amateur who knew 
the shortest distance on the green from the ball into 
the centre of the cup. 

CONTROL OF EMOTIONS 

One of the main points attached to good putting 
is control over emotions. The golfer who misses 
a putt and then immediately goes into the air has 
a hard time ahead. He must develop the habit of 
forgetting a bad shot and centering his entire atten- 

[18] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

tion upon the next hole on beyond. Many a fine 
golfer who had a good chance to win some important 
tournament has lost out because he let a bad putt 
get upon his nerves. 

To show the importance of developing this tem- 
perament, take the case of Alec Smith. Three or 
four years ago Smith came to the last hole with a 
chance to win the Open Championship of America. 
At the last green it had settled to one short putt, a 
putt of less than three feet. He had that putt left 
to become champion. He stepped up, putted, and 
missed. It must have been a hard blow to him, but 
if he was upset no one in the crowd could tell it from 
his expression. He had himself too well under con- 
trol. And in place of brooding over his misfortune 
he very promptly forgot about it, and in the play- 
off from the triple tie which had resulted with him- 
self, J.J. McDermott, and young Macdonald Smith, 
Alec resumed at his old pace and won handily. The 
ordinary golfer, after having come that close to vic- 
tory only to miss an easy shot, would have faded out. 

[19] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Almost the same thing happened one year in the 
Metropolitan Open. There was keen rivalry between 
Alec Smith and Jack McDermott, who have won 
most of the American Open Championships of late 
years. They were playing at Salisbury, New Jersey, 
and the play was nip and tuck. One stroke might 
decide the match. Coming to a short hole, a par 
three, Smith pitched to the green. His approach 
putt ran up within three feet of the hole. He putted 
for his three and missed, the ball trickling eighteen 
inches beyond the cup. Then, careless for the mo- 
ment, he putted loosely for his four and missed that, 
taking four putts and requiring a five at an acute 
stage of the match. 

This loss of two strokes under such conditions 
would have unnerved most golfers. Smith was ap- 
parently undisturbed. "Oh, I'll get those two back 
somewhere else," he remarked as he walked to the 
next tee. He promptly eliminated that disastrous 
hole from his mental make-up, forgot all about it, 
stuck to his work as if nothing had happened, and 

[20] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

finally won by a small margin. If he had let the 
loss of those two putts stick with him for even one 
hole, he probably would have been eliminated. But 
he had made it a matter of habit to try and forget 
all the bad turns of fortune, and to play each hole as 
if he were making a fresh start. 

Compare Smith's case with that of thousands 
who, after missing a putt, show their temper or their 
worry, and who seem to be unable to forget their 
latest mistake. A golfer can practise the develop- 
ment of the right mental condition just as he can 
practise the development of a swing. Too many 
people make their practice purely physical. 

I know in my own case, earlier in my career, I 
have lost my temper and always with disastrous 
effects. I lost a good chance to win a champion- 
ship by getting into a rage because a photographer 
snapped his camera just as I was playing my shot. 
I was up at the time in an important match, but 
went all to pieces and was soon beaten badly. After 
that experience I made a point of keeping my tern- 

[21] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

per well under control, of accepting each shot and 
each condition as it came. It was hard work, but 
I was more than repaid. Only last fall, in the Ama- 
teur Championship, when my opponent had just 
sunk a long putt, a friend of his cheered just as I was 
starting to try for mine. In earlier years this out- 
break, almost at my elbow, would have got on my 
nerves. But I refused to let it bother me, waited 
a moment, and then managed to get down a fifteen- 
footer for a half. 

THE SHORT GAME IN GENERAL 

Not only putting, but the short game in general, 
must be cultivated. The chip shot from off the 
green is a highly important one. When Ouimet was 
fighting for his chance to tie Vardon and Ray at 
Brookline, this shot came to his help in wonderful 
fashion. Coming to the last four holes he had to 
finish under par with 4-3-3-4 to have a chance. At 
the fifteenth he played his approach badly, and the 
ball sailed out to the right of the green, well off line. 

I 32] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

The green was a treacherous one and he had to get 
fairly close to nail his needed four. If he hadn't 
had full control of this shot, America's hope would 
have faded then and there. But he chipped up 
dead within a foot of the cup and saved the occasion. 

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PUTTING 

There is nothing that so jolts an opponent as a 
long putt that finds the cup. I have had a better 
chance than most to observe this feature through my 
own erratic work from the tee. In many a match 
my opponent has outdriven me, and played a far 
better second shot. He would be on the green in 
two, while I was off in the rough in two. Naturally 
it looked an easy hole for him. But after coming up 
in three and then sinking a ten or a fifteen putt for 
a four, the situation had suddenly changed. I n place 
of having the hole without a fight, he suddenly found 
himself with a three- or a four-foot putt for a half. 
Two or three holes of this type are enough to get upon 
any golfer's nerves, however strong they may seem. 

[23] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

I know, because I've had the same medicine 
handed back to me. And as it is easier to play with 
your nerves unruffled, I would rather be the one to 
be getting down the twelve- and fifteen-footers for a 
four than to be called on to sink the four-foot putts 
for a half. It works with double force. You are 
elated and your opponent is correspondingly de- 
pressed — if he misses — which he will soon start 
doing if such conditions as these continue for a hole 
or two. 

THE NEXT SHOT 

Next to putting, what is known as the "second 
shot" is the most valuable in the game. If a man 
has control of his mid-iron or mashie he is always 
dangerous. This shot is much more important in my 
opinion than the tee shot. And in regard to the 
mashie I have noticed an interesting shift of late. I 
watched Vardon closely when at work with his club, 
and saw that he did not take nearly so much turf as 
most golfers do. I n fact, he took very little, playing a 
much more delicate stroke. 

[24] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

This second shot is the one wherein the professionals 
as a rule have a big advantage over most amateurs. 
A first-class amateur is likely to drive as well as a 
professional, or in close range. He is likely to putt as 
well. But there are few amateurs who can use mid- 
iron and mashie with those who make a living from 
the game. One of the main points to remember in 
playing this shot is to keep your head still, your eye 
glued on that ball, and not to sway the body. Most 
golfers want to do too much work. They are not 
content to let the club help them out or to figure in 
the stroke. Arms, body, legs, and head are all used 
in a wild jumble that brings on disaster. In both 
putting and approaching more shots are missed by 
moving the head than through any other agency. 

ANOTHER AID 

Here is still another aid to the short game in golf, 
that is, the practice of concentration. Never take 
your mind of? your play for a second. This is a fault, 
this lack of concentration, that many very fine golfers 

[25] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

have. They don't come by it naturally and they 
have never practised it. If all the best friends I ever 
had in the world were following a match in which 1 
was playing, I would never know they were around. I 
have seen Travis in a friendly four-ball match fail 
even to smile when some one sprung a good joke. He 
would be so intent upon the play that he would refuse 
to let any outside element enter his thoughts. And 
then, later on in the clubhouse, after the match was 
over, he would probably recall the joke or the funny 
incident with a laugh. 

This matter of concentration is one too often over- 
looked in golf. It is especially needed around the 
putting greens, where a perfect coordination of brain 
and muscle are required, and where the shot is so 
delicate that the slightest slip means failure. And in 
golf, if he will, a man can practise thinking, practise 
with his head as well as with his legs and arms and 
feet. 

In this matter of golfing temperament and con- 
centration Ouimet is far above the average. He has 

[26] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

the ideal disposition for a winning player. His mind 
is centered entirely upon the game from the first shot 
to the last, and he doesn't get flurried or upset over 
any bad luck or poor shot. I n many ways he is much 
like Frank Baker of home-run Athletic fame. A 
championship game to either of these is the same as 
any other game — all in a day's play. The crowd 
doesn't get upon their nerves for they don't see the 
crowd. They forget it is around. 

If Evans could develop this temperament and this 
concentration he would be almost unbeatable. It 
may come later on. It will undoubtedly be greatly 
accelerated when he manages to win his first cham- 
pionship. 

In going back to the winning shot in golf — that is 
the putt — there are a few condensed suggestions that 
in conclusion I would like to give: 

i. Stand well over the ball and keep your head 
still. 

2. Keep your eye on that ball and don't move 
your body. 

[27] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

3. Cut out the jab or the stab, learn the pendulum 
swing, and get a follow through with the club. 

4. Cultivate, in practice as well as play, the knack 
of being a trifle beyond the hole if you miss. Make a 
steady practice of giving the ball a chance. 

5. Cultivate the habit of concentration. 

6. Cultivate the habit of confidence and de- 
termination, for mental faults can be improved as 
well as physical ones. 

7. And then practise putting wherever and when- 
ever you get the chance. 



[28] 



SING ON 

sing, Homeric Lyre, the story of my scores; 

Sing of the Pars I've cracked — my run of "eighty- 
ours ; 

Sing of the daring shots I've thumped by trap and 
ditch, 

The story of my drives, my mashie shots, my pitch; 

The putts I should have sunk (which wouldn't sink 
for me), 

But would have, had they dropped, returned a Sixty- 
Three; 

The mid-iron shots afar, cut with the proper spin, 

1 swept upon their way six inches from the pin; 

Of cleek shots, straight and true, that might have come 

from Braid, 
Of Brassies through the wind a Vardon might have 

made; 
Sing, at the Nineteenth Hole, the song of my desire, 
The story of my scores, sing, Homeric Liar. 

[29] 



THE CONUNDRUM OF THE GOLF SHOPS 

(Halving It with Colonel Kipling) 

When the flush of a newborn sun first fell on Eden's 

golfing strand, 
Our Father Adam stood on a tee with a crooked stick in 

his hand; 
And the first rude swing that the world had seen brought 

joy to his heart in a swarm, 
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, " It's pretty — 

but is it Form?" 



Wherefore he called to his wife and tried to fashion his 

swing anew; 
The first of the clan who cared a fig for the first great 

dread review; 

[30] 



THE CONUNDRUM OF THE GOLF SHOPS 

And he left his style to the use of his sons, who thought 

it a glorious gain, 
Till the Devil whispered, "Is it Form?" in the ear of 

the duffer Cain. 

They huilded a hunker to reach the sky and turn each 

score to a blotch; 

Till the Devil grunted from out the sand, "It's striking 

— but is it Scotch V* 
The cleek was dropped to the bunker side and the idle 

mashie hung, 

While each guy talked of the "proper stroke" and each 

in an alien tongue. 

When the flicker of springtime's sun first falls with a 

dream that is ever fond, 
The sons of Adam hie them forth where the fairway lies 

beyond; 
Their brassies sweep as they hit the pill, but their pain 

and their anguish swarm, 
For the Devil mutters behind the tee, "You hit it; but 

was it Form?" 

1 31] 



II 

GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

WHEN Jones comes in* at night with a 
desperate look in his eye, and a large 
grouch with it, barely speaking to his 
family as he slouches over in a corner out of the way, 
Mrs. Jones knows the answer. 

Five or six years ago she would have been badly 
upset if she had seen her husband in any such fix. 
She would have been undecided as to whether he had 
just failed in business, or had committed murder, or 
had been poisoned. But having been a " golf widow" 
for several years, Jones doesn't have to tell her that he 
"was badly off his game" — slicing, hooking, topping, 
or something else all the afternoon. 

This "off his game ailment" is one of our most 
prevalent and obnoxious diseases. It claims more 

[32] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

victims than any other four scourges known. There 
are said to be eight hundred thousand people playing 
golf in the United States now, and of this number it is 
safe to say that seven hundred and ninety thousand 
are " badly off their game" over half the time. 

This state of affairs results from various causes. I n 
the first place, there is no other game in existence 
where just a slight deviation from the right way of 
doing things will result in such damage to the play. 
In baseball, if the swing is a trifle late, the player may 
well hit a long double to right field in place of a single 
to left. But in golf such a swing would almost surely 
bring the ball up in some deep trap or in other trouble 
where from one to three shots could be easily 
lost. 

Then again, a golfer who averages around ninety- 
five for the eighteen holes will some day lose control 
of himself and shoot an eighty-four. And from that 
point on "his game" — his regular "game" — is eighty- 
four, as he hunts in vain for some remedy to bring 
him back. As this golfer will very probably move 

[33] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

back up to ninety-five again, he is always "off his 
game" from that point on. 

If some expert could invent sure remedies for 
putting each golfer back on his "game," for correct- 
ing a slice, a hook, or the many other faults which 
arise, he could pick up a million dollars a year. He 
could ask his own price and still get all the customers 
he could look after, working twenty-four hours a day 
at his trade. As it is, there are a good many sug- 
gestions which, if properly tried, will be of much 
help, and these are always in order. 

EVEN THE BEST GO WRONG 

I'll never forget my own harrowing experience 
at Garden City in the Amateur Championship. I 
had drawn a rather fortunate spring and summer, and 
had been going at my best since May in almost every 
tournament. So when the Amateur Championship 
came on, I had fair confidence in my ability to make 
at least a good fight to retain my title. 

And then the unexpected happened. It was like 

[34] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

being shot from behind ! The day before the tourna- 
ment started, before the qualifying medal round was 
to be played, my mashie went wrong. Any man who 
knows anything about golf knows the importance of 
this club, the big part it plays in the game. It is a 
club vital to success, and here, without warning, I was 
playing it all over the lot. Nearly every shot I hit 
twisted and spun off at right angles from the correct 
line. I tried every way I knew to correct the fault, 
but without success. 

The next day the medal round started, and I'll 
never forget that day if I live to be five hundred years 
old. It was the longest day I have ever known. Try 
as I would, concentrate as I would, I simply couldn't 
make that mashie work. I was out the first nine in 
forty-four — several strokes above what I should have 
taken. I managed to steady down on the homeward 
journey, and by sinking some long putts got a thirty- 
five, giving me seventy-nine for the round. This 
wasn't so bad, but in the afternoon I got steadily 
worse with this club, and finally, when I came to the 

[35] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

last hole, a short pitch with the mashie, I took a 
seven and was thrown into a twelve-man tie for last 
place. If I had missed one of those long putts I got 
down, I would have failed to qualify and would have 
been out of the tournament then and there. It was 
the closest call I ever expected to have. I managed 
to slip through the next morning, and won my first 
match. But I was still way off, and the next day I 
had my hardest battle on: a thirty-six-hole match 
with Francis Ouimet, who had been playing bril- 
liantly. 

FINDS THE CAUSE 

So, late that afternoon, I called in the services of 
Bellwood, the Garden City professional. He watched 
me play a few shots and then called the turn. I 
thought I had been doing a number of things badly, 
but I was wrong in each guess. My fault lay in the 
fact that as I started my club back I bent my left 
wrist too far, breaking the swing. Almost at the top 
of the swing this left wrist, in place of remaining firm, 
would break in toward my body. It was a matter of 

[36] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

only an inch in the swing, but it meant fifty yards in 
direction. 

I went out and practised early next morning, 
partially corrected the fault, which had started to be- 
come a fixed habit, and managed to win. 

Which reminds me that the best advice I can give 
when one gets suddenly off is to look up a competent 
professional and find the cause at once. If I hadn't 
started in correcting that mistake in the right way, by 
another ten days it would have been a fixed habit, and 
I would surely have been up against it for many 
months. 

Don't let these bad habits grow on you. And don't 
take it for granted that you know enough to correct 
them unaided. I made this mistake in regard to my 
driving. At one time this was one of the strongest 
parts of my game. Then I became ambitious for 
even more distance and began overswinging, that is, 
bringing the club too far back and around. I added 
distance, but at the expense of direction ; and before I 
suddenly realized where I stood, this overswinging 

[37] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

had developed into a steady habit, and it has 
bothered me and affected my game ever since. As a 
result now my hands, drawn out of the plane of the 
swing, are forced up, and I am never sure just when I 
can master this fault. I simply waited too long be- 
fore seeking some cure. 

TWO UNUSUAL CASES 

There are some features of returning to form which 
are logical, and others which are beyond any human 
reckoning. 

At one time Walter J. Travis, who is one of the 
hardest students of golf that ever lived, got badly off 
his drive. He had drawn a spell, as I remember it, of 
topping the ball, and there seemed to be no remedy in 
sight. Travis tried out all the known systems, and 
when these failed, he took the case into his ownhands. 
He began to experiment, and finally found that he got 
much better results by only partially addressing the 
ball ; that is, in place of placing his club head directly 
back of the ball on the ground, the back swing was 

[38] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 
started from a less rigid position with the club head 
still in the air. This system is different from any 
other I have ever seen, but it gets the right results, as 
there are very few who are any straighter down the 
course than the famous veteran. The logic of this 
stroke seems to be, in his case, that the club head goes 
through in better shape, with less tendency to tighten 
up just before the impact. 

Another remarkable case is that of James Braid, 
the great English professional. 

Braid had been a fine golfer, but, although a big, 
powerful man, his main defect had been inability to 
get distance from the tee. This had cost him heavily, 
as it had put him at a big disadvantage when play- 
ing against long drivers. He had worked upon this 
fault and tried every known system to cure it, with- 
out success. And then, one morning, starting a 
round, to his great astonishment he found that he had 
overnight added twenty-five or thirty yards to his 
drive. It had simply come to him and he could find 
no reason or cause for the sudden change. Ever 

[39] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

since he has been one of the longest drivers in the 
game, and to this day he doesn't know where this 
extra thirty yards down the course came from. 

THREE MAIN FAULTS 

There are three main causes for golfing faults that 
I have noted in my experience with the game. 

The first is " looking up," or moving the head. 

The second is swaying or shifting the body in 
advance of the arms, thereby spoiling the timing of 
the swing. 

The third is loss of confidence in making a shot, 
especially upon the putting green. 

The first of these is a combination of the physical 
and the mental. More bad shots are made from 
"looking up" — not looking at the ball — than any 
other one factor. 

The explanation of this fault is an easy one : Mind 
controls muscle, and the mind, also, works much 
faster than the hands. At the top of the swing the 
mind has already finished its work in regard to hitting 

[40] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

the ball, and has moved on ahead to the bunker to be 
carried or the green to be reached. And the mind, 
being in control of the situation and working faster 
than the hands, sends the head flying up in an effort 
to follow the flight of the ball even before it has been 
struck. The result is disaster. As the head comes 
up the club is jerked from the plane of its swing and 
the shot wrecked to a certainty. 

SUGGESTING A REMEDY 

"Yes, I know," says the average golfer, "that I 
ought to look at the ball. But how can I make my- 
self look at it? I've made up my mind to look at the 
ball on shot after shot, only to find my head still 
jerked up in the same old way. What can I do to 
cure this fault?" 

I know of but one answer, and that is the practice 
of concentration. Most golfers are willing enough to 
practise physically, but they never think of practising 
mentally. Practise controlling your mind just as you 
practise swinging a club; practise keeping your mind 

[41] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

on the ball as well as your eye; practise forgetting 
that any space exists beyond the ball, and practise 
the thought that your work is done when you get the 
ball away from that one small spot. How many 
golfers practise concentration? Not one out of a 
hundred. They expect it to develop naturally, and 
such a thing doesn't develop without aid any more 
than the swing would develop. 

HARD WORK 

I know how hard this practice is. I have always 

thought that but for breaking this cardinal precept 

I might have had a very good chance to beat Hilton 

in 191 1 at Apawamis — when the English champion 

carried away our chief amateur trophy. 

In the morning round over the first eighteen holes 

I had been playing badly, and finished four down. 

Every one, including Hilton, considered the match all 

in and over. But in the afternoon I started with a 

rush and won the first three holes, leaving myself 

only one down and well within reach. At the next 

[42] 




i 



THEN I BECAME AMBITIOUS FOR EVEN MORE 
DISTANCE AND BEGAN OVER-SWINGING — THAT IS 
BRINGING THE CLUB TOO FAR BACK AND AROUND 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

hole I had an easy two-foot putt to make to win my 
fourth straight hole and square the match. 

I have always thought that if I had made that 
putt the odds would have been in my favour. Now 
in putting I make it a set rule to look at the ball un- 
til my club has struck the spot I am looking at. I 
have been able to do this by constant practice of 
concentration. But on this occasion I had a down- 
hill putt and I was over anxious. And just before 
my club struck the ball I looked up, pushed the ball 
to the right of the cup, and missed the shot. This 
upset me for a moment, and I topped my drive at 
the next hole, losing it. The combination, coming 
suddenly, restored Hilton's confidence, which had 
been ebbing away, and he got going again, with the 
result that I was beaten three and two. 

TWO OTHER FAULTS 

"But suppose I am slicing, or hooking?" queries 
the duffer. " How am I to stop that? Just looking 
at the ball won't do it." 

[43] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Well, looking at the ball will help. But the main 
fault here is bad timing, which results mostly from 
letting the body get away from control. 

And in this connection I would like to add a tip 
— most golfers are too ambitious. They want to 
do all the work themselves, with their arms and 
body and feet and head, leaving nothing for the club. 
Now the club has its part in the game. It has its 
work to do just as well as the hands. So why not 
let it do its share of the labour? 

Too many golfers bring into play entirely too 
many muscles. On short shots make the stroke as 
simple as possible, using only the hands and arms, 
keeping the body out of it. On longer shots let the 
arms and club do more work, and the body less. 

In other words, practise playing the shot in easier, 
simpler fashion, without all that unnecessary lunge 
and twist. Let the arms pull the body through, in 
place of the body pushing the arms through — which 
latter is the worst thing in the world for timing. 

These are faults that should be corrected by a 

[44] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 
visit to a professional, for, as I remarked before, if 
left too long they develop into fixed habits. I know 
the case of one golfer who was a club champion and 
a state champion. He had been playing golf for 
over ten years, and had fallen into a steady, even 
game. He was especially dependable with the wood . 
And then, almost imperceptibly, he began to break 
his swing at the top. The fault gradually became 
worse, until he was pushing his hands a foot out of 
the right plane at the top of his swing, and he soon 
was unable to hit a ball off the tee. 

This player then called in the club professional, 
but found by that time the habit had become fixed. 
The man worked for over a year, practising steadily, 
without helping his case. He seemed to be hyp- 
notized. With no ball to hit at, his swing was per- 
fect. But the moment the professional placed a 
ball on the tee, his hands would push the club up 
over his head and wreck the stroke. The profes- 
sional finally gave him up in despair. The golfer 
at last corrected the fault by practising driving with 

[45] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

first his left hand and then his right, and by then 
going back to a half swing, extending it gradually. 
But he had two years of nightmare before he got 
going again. 

THE MATTER OF CONFIDENCE 

Getting back on one's confidence is even more 
important than getting back on one's game. And in 
this phase of golf come the most interesting cases 
connected with the game. Confidence or lack of 
confidence, making or breaking a player, may come 
or go at a single shot. 

In this connection the case of Walter J. Travis at 
Sandwich in 1904 is an interesting example. 

Travis had gone over to compete in the British 
Amateur Championship, but across the water he 
wasn't given a look-in. No one thought he had a 
chance. He had been playing good golf, but about 
ten days before the tournament started he suddenly 
went wrong in his putting. 

Having always been a good putter, and knowing 

[46] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

the value of putting in tournament play, this was a 
hard blow to the American's hope and dream. He 
worked for hours, tried out various stances and 
various grips and all the methods in sight, without 
effect. The day of the first competitive match in 
championship play drew on, and yet Travis was still 
floundering. He was unable to lay an approach 
putt close or to sink a short one. Something had 
happened to break that mystic link which joined 
confidence with his play. And then, on the day of 
the tournament, he threw aside his own putter in 
disgust and borrowed one from an American friend. 
The first putt he tried for went down with a cluck. 
And from that point on Travis gave the greatest 
exhibition of putting any tournament has ever seen. 
He simply walked through the field of England's 
best, and he turned the trick by sinking the most 
wonderful putts that England had ever seen. A 
fifteen-footer was dead easy. He got most of the 
twenty-footers and, strange to say, about the only 
putts of any sort that he missed were the wee ones 

[47] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

that he should have holed easily. Travis met Black- 
well in the final round and literally putted him to 
death. Blackwell would be five feet from the cup in 
three and Travis twenty feet in three. Travis would 
then sink his twenty-footer for a four, and the shock 
would upset the Englishman, who very often missed. 
What had happened? Nothing except that Travis 
had suddenly recovered his confidence with a new 
putter. 

ANOTHER COMMON FAULT 

There is still another mistake which I have noted 
frequently while watching others play over various 
courses. And this fault is especially common among 
the so-called duffers. 

You see them playing up and down the course, 
missing their iron shots, topping most of them, and 
wondering what on earth has happened. It's quite 
easy to detect the cause. When they want to get 
the ball up in the air, in place of letting the club, 
which is built for that purpose, do the work, they 
attempt to get the ball up by jerking their hands up 

[48] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 
as if they were doing the lifting. The iron face of a 
mashie, mashie-niblick, jigger, and mid-iron is con- 
structed for the purpose of getting the ball in the 
air. 

If the club head comes through properly, the ball 
will rise in the proper way. But a big section of the 
golfing clan doesn't seem to appreciate this. They 
feel that they must snap their wrists up as the club 
head meets the ball, to get the ball up. This is 
almost sure to result in a topped shot — certainly in 
a bad one. So, when you have a spell of topping 
with your irons, recall this, and begin to let the club 
head do the lifting. Let the club head go on through, 
and by no means make any attempt to jerk the ball 
up from its lie. This is a notorious fault and one 
that will bear watching, for it spoils many a shot 
in the course of a season, almost as many as looking 
up or shifting the body into poor timing. 

A USEFUL HINT 

One of the main things for a golfer to remember in 

[49] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

starting to get back on his game is that golf, above 
all other things in the world, is a game of infinite 
patience. 

Those who expect too much, who are looking for 
quick returns, worry too much, get peevish, and 
finally careless. In place of working more easily 
than usual and with more thought, they hit harder 
and harder, and let their tempers wreck their judg- 
ment. The only chance a golfer has to correct a 
fault is to secure the proper instruction, and then 
work at his comeback with patience and with de- 
liberate thought. It is impossible to say how many 
golfers have been ruined by expecting too much in 
too short a time, and then letting discouragement 
set in. 

I was playing in a two-ball match one day with a 
veteran golfer. We passed another golfer on the 
course who had been playing less than a year. We 
were right at him when he stepped up to a pitch 
shot over the bunker and then foozled, with the 
result that he carried nicely into trouble. 

[50] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

The aftermath was an explosion. He threw his 
club after the ball, and began to get profane in about 
five languages at the same time. 

When he had finished his long list of expletives 
my friend, the veteran player, simply said, "What's 
the kick? You didn't expect to make a good shot, 
did you?" 

And the profanity started all over again. But 
that was the trouble. The duffer saw no reason why 
he shouldn't make that shot like an Evans. And 
when he failed, instead of realizing that it was only 
natural that a beginner should miss a hard pitch 
shot of that type, he immediately flew into a frenzy, 
and probably got worse and worse. Suppose, in 
place of losing control of his temper there, that he 
had taken things as a matter of course, and put the 
same amount of energy into studying just what he 
had done wrong, and in thinking of some way to 
correct the fault. He would not only have found 
greater pleasure in the game, but he would have be- 
gun to improve beyond the average. 

[51] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

I cite this case because it is illustrative of a big 
body of golfers — an amazing percentage. Here we 
have a game that requires more calmness, judgment, 
stolidity, and control than any other game ever 
known — for the player here is at all times playing 
against himself — his own weakness. And yet we 
have thousands of players trying to learn it with 
frazzled nerves, with their tempers unleashed, with 
their judgment wrecked, simply because they haven't 
been able to control themselves, and all the while they 
are wondering why it is they don't improve and why 
it is they can't possibly "get back on their game." 
How can a man get back to a given point when he 
starts in exactly the opposite direction from that 
point? He might possibly do so by travelling around 
the world, but in no other way. 

Any man with an average athletic tendency can 
get back on his game in golf if he will only follow a 
few set rules and regulations : 

If he will first seek competent instruction. 

If he will then practise concentration, and prac- 

[52] 



GETTING BACK ON YOUR GAME 

tise thoroughly the art of thinking how the stroke 
should be played. 

If he will practise control of his temper and his 
judgment and will keep a clear head, working with 
patience and calmness. 

I know this is easier to write than it is to do. But 
if a golfer finds it beyond his mental powers to fol- 
low this route he is in for a hard time of it, unless he 
is an exceptional genius, and he is quite sure to find 
that he will spend the greater part of his time "all 
off his game, simply unable to get going again." 
Life for him then will be just one alibi after another. 
He had better quit the sport entirely, and save his 
own nerves and the nerves of his friends. 



[53] 



SONG OF THE NINETEENTH HOLE 

A blear-eyed golfer landed home at 3 o'clock one morn, 
About six down, or maybe more, to old J '. Barleycorn; 
And when he looked around and saw between him and 

his bed 
His spouse had laid a stymie with a rolling pin, he said — 
" Vm sorry, dear, that I'm so late — / know that I'm 

to blame — 
But I have been out playing bonny Scotland's grand 

old game"; 

Whereat she seized the rolling pin with still a firmer clutch, 

And showed him by this chorus that the Duffer was in 

Dutch — 

Chorus: 

" I know about your golf, old boy, where twenty drinks 

are par; 
How all your short approaches leave you close against 

the bar; 

[54] 



SONG OF THE NINETEENTH HOLE 

You move along from cup to cup until you're orey-eyed; 
The only Scotch game you can play has soda on the 
side:' 

In vain the wretched golfer took an oath upon his death; 
In vain — because he could not put a hack spin on his 

breath; 
In vain he foozled each excuse and topped each alibi, 
Until at last he played himself into a wretched lie; 
He said that he'd been "pressing" and he spoke of 

"perfect form," 
To find that he was standing in the pathway of a storm; 
The lady took a Vardon grip upon that rolling pin, 
And as she took a Ouimet swing she said above the din — 

Chorus : 
" I know about your golf, old boy, where twenty drinks 
are par" — etc. 



[55] 



Ill 

WONDER SHOTS THAT WON GOLF CHAMPIONSHIPS 

1HAVE watched a ball game and at some critical 
point I have seen a home batsman lash out a 
two-base hit just beyond some infielder's reach, 
scoring the winning run. And I have thought that I 
was thrilled to the limit. 

I have watched football games, and at some close 
stage have seen a fast halfback suddenly swing loose, 
dash past all opposition except one lone man playing 
well back, and as this lone tackier dived for his 
man I was still sure that I was thrilled to the limit 
of things. 

But at Brookline, Massachusetts, where America's 
Open Golf Championship was under way, I found 
that I had never been thrilled before — that I had 
just discovered what the word thrill really means. 

[56] 



WON D ER SHOTS 

We were standing around the eighteenth green 
that Friday afternoon, knowing that Vardon and 
Ray, the great English players, had tied for first 
place, when word came in that young Francis 
Ouimet, the fine young Massachusetts amateur, was 
still in the fight and with a bare outside chance to tie 
the two English stars. 

The story of that remarkable finish, where Ouimet 
accomplished the miraculous, has already become 
old in the telling, but there are two shots concerning 
which I do not believe that " the half has ever been 
told/' To my mind these two putts outlined the 
most wonderful golfing psychology that the game 
has ever known in all its history. And before I 
take these two shots up I should like somewhat 
further to illustrate the psychological possibilities 
of the occasion from a section of my own golfing 
experience. 

No one who hasn't been through it can ever ap- 
preciate the strain that comes in the winning of a first 
championship. It is almost unbearable, and has 

[57] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

broken many golfers who might have added the title 
to their achievements. 

MY FIRST CHAMPIONSHIP 

My first championship came over the Euclid course 
at Cleveland, Ohio, in 1907. In the final round of 
that affair, playing against Archie Graham, I had 
come to the thirteenth hole in the afternoon with the 
lead of five up and but six to play. I had to win but 
one more hole of the remaining six to be champion. 
I had to halve but two holes to be champion. Yet 
when I came to my last putt on the thirteenth green 
I almost cracked. I had only a four-foot putt to 
make in order to win, and even if I missed it I would 
be dormie five. I felt that day that I couldn't make 
that putt if I had to be shot. I told Graham so. "Oh, 
drop it in," he remarked, "and end the agony. You 
couldn't miss it with your eyes shut." 

I got the putt, but I was surprised when it dropped 
in. Now I am not supposed to be afflicted with any 
great amount of nervousness, but here was a putt 

[58] 



WON D E R SHOTS 

that was not at all vital or important, but which 
came near upsetting me because I realized that a 
championship was so close. I am using this case to 
illustrate the remarkable psychology involved in 
those two putts by Ouimet last fall. 

TWO WORLD BEATERS 

When Ouimet had finished the sixteenth hole he 
still had a three and a four left for a tie with the two 
Britons. And a three on the eighteenth hole was 
next to impossible except by a fluke, so he had to get 
a three on the seventeenth. Now the seventeenth 
green at Brookline is a most treacherous affair, or 
was that day, with a decided slope and as fast as a 
streak. Probably the strongest part of my game is 
putting, and that green had got well upon my nerves 
and had me guessing. 

On his second shot that day Ouimet planted his 
ball on the green about twenty feet from the cup and 
above the hole. It was almost impossible to get 
close to the cup on your second shot here, as the hole 

[59] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

was close to a bunker that would have meant disaster 
in case of any deviation from an almost perfect line. 
So Ouimet had to play above and to the right of the 
hole, leaving the hardest of all putting combinations: 
a downhill, sidehill putt. It was about as difficult 
a putt as a man was ever called upon to make. 
Under the circumstances it was almost beyond hope. 
There was hardly a chance for him to lay dead. If he 
missed the cup over the fast, tricky green, he was 
almost sure to go five or six feet below and have an- 
other hard putt for a four. And even a four there 
would have been useless. 

Ouimet knew this, and he must have figured just 
what it meant. But even though I knew he had a 
wonderful temperament for golf, I was surprised to 
note the sure, easy, and confident way he went to 
that putt. I recalled my own experience of six years 
before. Yet here was a kid of twenty — without a 
flutter. He went for the cup as if he had been trying 
a practice putt. Over the wet, slippery green rolled 
to a fast smoothness the ball started on a perfect line, 

[60] 



WONDER SHOTS 

curved in at exactly the right spot, and struck the 
back of the cup with as welcome a cluck-cluck as I 
have ever heard. 

But that wasn't all. He had gotten his three on a 
par four hole — the hole that next day cost Vardon 
any chance for the championship, as the Englishman 
took a five there — but there was still another hole to 
play and a hard one, calling for fine golf to register 
the needed four. Ouimet had a good drive and 
played a fine second shot over a road guarding the 
green to the edge of the bank, where the ball struck in 
the rain-soaked turf and stopped dead. There was a 
dip in the green between his ball and the cup with the 
hole up the slope. On this shot I would have used a 
putter to follow the roll of the ground and get up 
fairly close. But Ouimet elected to use a mashie, 
and when he pitched, the ball landed six or seven feet 
short — not an exceptionally long distance away, but 
the most trying distance imaginable when one needs 
that putt badly. He had already wriggled out of one 
close call and was up against another — one shot left 

[61] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

to tie Britain's two golfing kings and keep his 
country on the golfing map. It was that one shot, or 
America passed, to let England fight out America's 
championship on American soil. 

The nervous strain here must have been even 
greater than it was upon the previous hole. There he 
was, with three thousand of his countrymen looking 
on and praying for his success. I have never seen an 
occasion so charged with excitement. The air was 
rife with it, and you could feel suppressed emotion 
darting about like currents of electricity. Again I re- 
called my experience of six years before and the 
nervous flutter I felt where everything was in my 
favour, and I wondered if a human lived who could 
hold his poise in Ouimet's place. With me, it wasn't 
so much the fact that he made the putt as it was the 
way he went about it. There was no sign of any 
sort of nervousness. He walked up to his ball with 
an easy, steady stride, barely took a look at the hole, 
wasted no time in getting set, and with three thou- 
sand of his followers almost breaking apart under the 

[62] 



WON D E R SHOTS 

strain, he putted boldly for the center with a clean, 
free tap that could have come only from muscles 
under perfect mental control. 

And when that putt dropped, I realized then that I 
had never felt a regular thrill before — that the others 
were all counterfeits. 

A RECORD PUTT 

From the viewpoint of psychology these two putts 
of Ouimet's were the most wonderful I ever saw. 
But from the physical side of things I once saw 
Walter J. Travis, the veteran, sink the most wonder- 
ful putt it has ever been my lot to witness. 

The occasion was a Metropolitan Championship at 

Garden City with Travis and Wilder of Boston in a 
hard match. Travis was four down and four to play, 
hanging on by a thin thread of hope. But Travis 
settled down and won the fifteenth and sixteenth 
holes, leaving himself only two down with two holes 
left. He had to win both, of course, to even get a 
half. But his rally seemed to be fading out at the 

[6 3 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

seventeenth hole, and those who had wagered four to 
one against Wilder — one man I know had bet two 
hundred dollars to fifty on Travis — were looking on 
with sick expressions. For all Wilder needed was a 
half here to win the match. And after playing three 
shots he was only four feet from the cup. And 
Travis on his third shot was barely on the green, 
thirty feet away. 

The battle seemed to be over beyond any hope, for 
Travis was not only thirty feet away, but he had one 
of the trickiest and hardest greens on the course to 
putt over. And even if he made the putt the odds 
were that Wilder would also make his from that 
distance. Travis had no chance to try for a straight 
putt. There were two decided breaks in the slope of 
the green, one to the left and one to the right. And 
between these two mounded slopes there was a narrow 
gap between knolls. It was impossible to follow the 
line of this gap because the cup was set back of a 
knoll to the left, blocking entrance in that direction. 

He had only one way to go, and that was to take 

[6 4 ] 



WON D E R SHOTS 

the mounded slope to the right. The Old Man 
walked up to the cup and studied the line carefully 
from that angle. Then he walked slowly back, 
studying the lay of the ground along the line he must 
take. He had to figure all this tricky slope to the 
inch, and to the inch for thirty feet. For any slight 
break off the right line would probably put him three 
or four feet away at the finish. 

After a careful survey he walked back to his putt 
and with a free tap sent the ball spinning along. It 
took the slope to the right, wound its way along this 
raised mound and, winding, turning, twisting up-slope 
and down-slope, it broke in at exactly the right spot, 
about twenty-eight feet away, and it then plumped 
squarely into the center of the cup, taking its last run 
from a decided downhill spin where the green sloped 
off abruptly toward the hole. I've never seen an- 
other like it. 

The effect was so startling that Wilder, being 
human, promptly missed his four-footer and then lost 
the next hole, leaving the match all square. He 

[6 5 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

rallied after this and fought an even fight at the 
thirty-seventh, thirty-eighth, and thirty-ninth holes, 
but at the fortieth Travis sank another hard putt for 
one under par and won the match. 

Taylor's escape 

These long putts are sometimes necessary to save 
one's fate. In fact, the occasion develops rather 
frequently in championship play. 

At Hoylake, in the British Open, J. H. Taylor, 
the crack English pro., found himself up against 
a similar proposition. Now Vardon had won the 
British Open on five occasions and Braid had won it 
on five occasions. Taylor had won only four times, 
and he was, of course, highly keyed up with the idea 
and with the hope that he might tie his famous op- 
ponents. This tournament was played in a hard 
rain coupled with a driving wind — the severest test 
known. And before the seventy-two-hole medal 
round started, the field was so large that it was 
necessary to have a qualifying round where only a 

[66] 



WONDER SHOTS 

certain proportion, those among the best twenty in 
each group, could qualify. 

In this qualifying round Taylor had failed to strike 
his gait. He had been a trifle off. So much so, in 
fact, that it looked for one shaky moment as if he 
wouldn't qualify. Taylor had come to the last 
green and the finish with but one shot left to get in 
and get a chance to continue. If he missed this 
putt he was out of it for good, out among the dis- 
cards. He was twenty feet away from the cup when 
he started his putt. The ball trickled on, came to 
rest at the edge, hung there for an interminable length 
of time and finally wobbled over in for the needed four. 
And after that narrow squeak, where the odds were 
five to one against him, Taylor went out and won the 
British Open Championship for the fifth time, tying 
the records set up by Harry Vardon and James Braid. 

TREED? — NOT QUITE 

I believe two of the best shots I ever made were 
both pulled off under similar conditions. The first 

[6 7 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
one was at Baltusrol, the second at Englewood, and 
both were in Metropolitan Championships. In each 
case, with hard matches on, against Seeley first and 
Byers later on, my ball had come to rest just in front 
of a tree with the hole on beyond. There was no 
chance to shoot straight for the cup, as I was unable 
to get my club back without striking the tree. To 
play safe was useless, for I had to reach the green 
even to get a half. So on each occasion I took a 
desperate chance, standing with my back almost to 
the hole. To play the shot from this stance I had 
to play almost at right angles to the green, allowing 
for a terrific pull. On each occasion I swept my 
club around, put my wrists sharply into the shot, 
and in some way managed to engineer sufficient 
hook to save the hole. 

There were two other shots that saved me in one 
of my toughest matches. They came at Garden 
City against Ouimet in the Amateur Champion- 
ship. He had been playing at top speed, and I 
knew that I had a battle under way early. At the 

[68] 



WONDER SHOTS 

finish of the morning round I was one up. But 
Ouimet started off briskly in the afternoon, caught 
me soon, and after leaving the seventh hole was one 
up. Playing the eighth hole we were about alike 
on our drives, and he followed with a fine long pitch 
to the green, only eight feet from the cup. I saw 
then that the situation was becoming serious. If he 
won this hole he would be two up with only ten 
holes left, and at the clip he was travelling this would 
leave me in a dangerous fix. I knew, after he had 
made this last shot, that he figured the hole won — 
that he was practically two up. I saw also that I 
had a chance here to jar some of his confidence loose 
by turning the tables. So I put all the psychology 
and wrist play I had into my shot, landing only 
three feet from the pin. He then missed, I holed 
out for a three, and was all square in place of being 
two down. I won the ninth hole and we halved 
the tenth, leaving me one up. He made another 
bid at the eleventh, where his second shot was only 
twelve feet from the cup. This time I took another 

[6 9 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

chance of driving a blow home, and from one hundred 
and forty yards away planted the ball within two 
feet of the pin. But the shot that turned the tide, 
as Ouimet admitted later on, came at the eighth 
hole. 

THE HEAVY STRAIN 

It is remarkable in golf how often one shot will 
win or lose a match. Most people fail to appreciate 
the abnormal strain, both physical and mental, under 
which the player must fight his way through the 
field. I once knew a star football player, a guard 
weighing over two hundred pounds, who had never 
taken out time in his football career. He was a 
glutton for hard work, and was always able to finish 
even a big battle in fine condition. After finishing 
college he began to pay more attention to golf, which 
he had played at intervals only before. In one of the 
big championships toward the finish of the tourna- 
ment he almost collapsed under the strain, playing 
so badly that he was beaten easily. He told me 

[70] 



WONDER S HOTS 

afterward that he had never believed it possible 
that a game like golf would send him to the mat 
where he had been able to survive football without a 
flutter. 

The difference is this : in football the player suffers 
only from physical weariness; but in golf the mental 
strain is so great that unless a man has absolute 
control of his nerves, they become raw and leave him 
a nervous wreck for the time being. Two days after 
a football or baseball season is over the players are 
generally feeling fit. But last fall it was several 
weeks before Ouimet recovered from his Brookline 
experience, and at the end of the season J.J. McDer- 
mott, one of the greatest professionals in the coun- 
try, broke down and had to take over a month's rest. 

If a man hasn't almost complete control over his 
nervous system he will never win a championship. 
Vardon, Braid, and Taylor, the great British golfers, 
who have each won the British Open five times, 
are all masters of their temperament. They have 
learned to take the game as it comes — to accept their 

[71] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

fate without a complaint. If they miss a shot, you 
will never see any one of them bat an eyelash. They 
know what it means to keep an unruffled temper and 
to be possessed of some reserve force to fall back 
upon at the time when needed. 

FREAKS OF NERVOUS FORCE 

This nervous force works in queer and mysterious 
systems. There are some people who are highly 
nervous in medal rounds, but who become steady 
when they swing into match play. I never do nearly 
as well in a medal round as I do in a match round. 
On the other hand, the system works exactly the 
opposite with Charles Evans, Jr., Chicago's young 
star. Evans can literally eat a medal round alive, 
taking it without a quiver. But in match play he 
is generally below form. In 19 12, at Wheaton, 
Harold Hilton had led the field in the medal round 
with a seventy-five. Evans was the only one left 
to tie the English champion. He had a four left to 
tie at the final hole. This hole is over four hundred 

[72] 



WONDER SHOTS 

yards long, and Evans, after a bad tee shot, had to 
play his second far wide of the green to get out at all. 
This left him a high, difficult pitch over some trees 
to reach the green in three and have a chance for 
his four. He executed the pitch perfectly, with 
wonderful nerve and judgment, and landed on the 
green twenty feet away. Then, although not a 
steady putter, he walked up and sank his putt for a 
four. 

He had mastered the nerves of medal round. But 
at match play, when we met in the thirty-sixth-hole 
final, he was not the same. Evans has won five out 
of his last seven starts at medal play in the Amateur 
Championship, but has yet to win the match-play 
championship. And while I have won the champi- 
onship on four occasions, I have never even figured 
in a medal round. Which shows how apart the two 
systems are and what different types of golf are re- 
quired to meet the two occasions. 

When this lack of confidence arrives, the golfer is 
in a bad way. At Garden City last fall, Evans was 

[73] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

playing against E. M. Byers, of Pittsburgh. For the 
greater part of that first round Evans had mastered 
his weakness on the green, had recovered confidence, 
and was going along as only Evans can when he 
swings into his best stride. At the seventeenth hole 
he was six up on Byers, with the match well in hand. 
Playing the eighteenth the Chicago golfer pitched to 
within ten feet of the cup. Byers was twenty-five 
feet away. On his approach putt Byers ran six feet 
over and missed coming back, netting a four. Evans 
had two putts to win and three to halve. He hit 
the cup for a two, but caromed four feet away, and 
finally took three putts from that distance, losing the 
hole with a five. 

This sudden recurrence of bad putting got upon 
his nerves again with the result that, while still five 
up, Evans lost this margin within the next nine or 
ten holes, and finally had a thirty-eight-hole battle 
ahead before he could win. That one hole had cost 
him all this extra nervous strain, and he was still 
unsettled from his strenuous experience next day 

[74] 



WONDER SHOTS 

when he met J. G. Anderson, and was beaten in the 
semi-final round. If he had been able to have made 
that one short putt he would have finished his 
morning round seven up, and more than likely would 
have won with ease in the afternoon, thereby being 
able to reserve his nervous force for a better showing 
next day. 

THE EFFECT OF ONE SHOT 

The effect of one good shot or one bad shot is often 
startling. I n the Metropolitan Open Championship, 
held at Englewood in 191 1, Gilbert Nicholls was 
playing his last nine holes. He got a four on the 
tenth, playing at only a steady clip up through here. 
The eleventh hole there is four hundred yards along. 
Nicholls put away a good drive, and on his second 
shot used a mid-iron. The ball started on a line 
for the cup, and a second later a shout came from 
those around the green. He had holed in two from 
one hundred and sixty yards away! From that 
point no golfer that ever lived could have touched 
him. He finished the nine in thirty, breaking all 

[75] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

previous records by two strokes and winning the 
championship in a walk. After that one two he 
picked up two other holes in two, playing with such 
confidence and daring that it seemed as if he couldn't 
miss from any distance. 

One year at Brookline, in the American Open, 
I followed one of the leading professionals com- 
peting there. He had been moving along steadily 
until he finally came to one of the most treacherous 
greens. The hole was a long one, over four hundred 
yards. His drive was a beauty. He played a 
wonderful second shot on the green about four feet 
above the cup. He had this putt for a three. If he 
could make this hard hole in three, he would probably 
be off on an inspiration dash, a hard man to head off. 
The green was as fast as lightning and the putt was 
downhill. He putted, missed, and the ball, like a 
man grasping for a hold as he rolls down an em- 
bankment, twisted and rolled on by the cup and 
travelled twenty feet before it stopped. He took 
three putts to get back in the cup. I n place of getting 

[76] 



WONDER SHOTS 

a three he got a six, and from that point on faded out 
of the championship fight. That one shot had 
destroyed all his confidence, had given him a deadly 
fear of the greens, and he was through. 

THE UPSET 

Some years ago I found out what a shock arrives 
when the other fellow does the unexpected. I was 
playing one of my first big matches with Walter J. 
Travis at Garden City. He was a veteran then and 
I a kid. We finished the first thirty-six holes all 
square. We halved the thirty-seventh, and at the 
thirty-eighth I pitched on the green within ten feet of 
the cup, while Travis overplayed into the bunker be- 
yond. I considered the match over then and there. 
It had been a grinding one all the way, and I could 
already taste the sweets of victory. Then I got my 
first shock: Travis played from the bunker within a 
foot of the hole, dead for a three. I was more than 
shocked. I tried for my two, missed, and overran, 
and then missed my three, losing hole and match. 

[77] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

That taught me a lesson — not to consider any hole 
won or lost until the ball was in the cup. I've never 
forgotten it. 

Possibly the hardest upset that ever developed 
came at Apawamis in 191 1, when Harold Hilton of 
England and Fred Herreshoff of Garden City fought 
out the championship round. They were all even at 
the end of thirty-six holes. The thirty-seventh hole, 
which naturally is also number one, is located upon a 
high green, bordered at the right by a towering rock, 
almost a cliff. Both drives were down the middle, 
but Herreshoff had the best shot, within easy pitching 
of the green. Hilton, therefore, had to play first. His 
shot, badly sliced, travelled off to the right, and the 
match looked to be over, with America on top. For 
it seemed as if nothing could keep that ball from 
bounding off from the cliff into an almost unplayable 
spot. Herreshoff, after the grinding journey, must 
have thought the same, and so must have felt that at 
last his work was done. But by some strange freak 
the ball struck a projection from the side of the rock 

[78] 



WONDER SHOTS 

and caromed off upon the green for a sure four in 
place of an almost sure six. The upset to Herreshoff 
was quite natural and his approach was bad, costing 
him the hole and championship. 

One of the most fatal single shots that I have ever 
seen was played by Heinrich Schmidt at Garden City 
in the last Amateur Championship. Schmidt had 
done wonderful work in the English Amateur and was 
well touted for this tournament. His first round was 
badly played, the eighteen holes costing him eighty- 
six. He steadied down in his second journey, how- 
ever, and came through with seventy-nine. This left 
him tied for first place with twelve of us who had also 
required one hundred and sixty-five for the thirty- 
six-hole test. Then we all started in to play the next 
extra hole, where twelve of the thirteen were to qual- 
ify, with only one to be dropped out. The main 
object here, of course, was to play safe. Schmidt had 
one of the best drives of the lot, and before it came 
his time to play a second shot he had seen two others 
go into the deep bunker or trap guarding the green. 

[79] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

All he had to do here was to be sure of getting well 
over, even if he overran the green. But in place of 
this he used a niblick, tried for a most difficult pitch, 
and fell short in the worst sort of trouble, putting him 
out of the tournament. As he was coming back up- 
on his game at a lively clip he might have had a good 
chance, but faulty judgment left him at the post. 

Golf is full of single chances of this nature, where 
one shot may win or lose and where calm judgment 
and control of nerves are necessary to achieve the 
right result. There is no actual physical contest of 
man against man, but there is a heart-tearing contest 
of nerve against nerve all the way, and the one who 
comes through safely must hold himself perfectly in 
hand. For it is hard enough to keep the pace at a 
normal clip at a crucial spot, much less rise to the 
occasion with a phenomenal shot that decides the 
day's issue. 

But one of these phenomenal or unexpected shots 
always works with double force. It not only gives 
the one who makes it greater hope and confidence, 

[80] 



WONDER SHOTS 

but it comes as a hard shock to the other man who 
had considered the hole won. 

A 269-YARD CARRY 

There is still another class of golf shots, not so 
interesting, as they lack the mental side, but wonder- 
ful from the physical power required. An example is 
the shot Ed Ray played at the sixteenth hole at 
Shawnee. This hole is about two hundred and sixty- 
eight yards from the tee. It is guarded by a deep 
brook, and beyond the brook a decided uphill slope. 
Before Ray came up, Vardon, McDermott, and Alec 
Smith, all long hitters, took drivers and, after clean 
wallops, struck the side of the bank and fell short. 
The shot had to be nearly all carry, as the ground 
was soft from recent rains and the uphill slope pre- 
vented much run. When Ray stepped up, he took 
a look at the hole and then stepped back, called 
his caddie, and replaced his driver, taking out a cleek. 
The crowd around gasped — and then laughed. But 
Ray knew what he was about. Weighing two 

[81] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

hundred and twenty pounds, with broad, sloping 
shoulders that denote great physical power, he ranks 
among the longest drivers in the world. With a 
tremendous swipe he hurled the head of that cleek 
into the ball, and when it landed on a full carry the 
white pill was within ten feet of the cup. He had 
carried brook, slope, and everything else in the way 
with a cleek, where other long players had failed with 
a club that is supposed to get twenty yards more 
distance. 

But, after all, it is the shot played with the brain 
and heart rather than with the arm and shoulder that 
counts most. 



[82] 



THE DUFFER'S REQUIEM 
{With Apologies to R. L. S.) 

Under the wide and starry sky 
Dig the grave and let me lie; 
Gladly I've lived and gladly die 
Away from the world of strife; 
These he the lines you grave for me: 
"Here he lies where he wants to be; 
Lies at rest by the nineteenth tee, 
Where he lied all through his life." 



[8 3 ] 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT GOLFER 

(Conceding Two Strokes to Colonel Coleridge) 

It was an ancient Golfer, 

And he stoppetb one of three; 
" By thy baffing spoon, thou craiy loon, 

Now wherefore stoppest me?" 

He held me with his glittering eye, 
I had to get that alibi. 

" I drove them straight from every tee — 

/ soaked them on the crest; 
I played my mashie like a Braid 

Or Vardon at his best. 

" But eke when I had reached the green 

I was a pie-eyed mutt; 
I would have had a 68 

If I could only putt. 

[8 4 ] 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT GOLFER 

" / putted slow — / putted fast — 

/ made them roll and hop; 
I putted standing up and crouched, 

But still they would not drop. 

" About — about in reel and rout 

My score went on the blink; 
Aye, putters, putters everywhere, 

But not a putt would sink. 

" I hit the cup eleven times 

And rimmed it seven more; 
I bit my arm, I shrieked aloud, 

I wept and then I swore; 
I should have had a 68, 

But got a Q4." 

I left that craiy loon and ran 

As any one would do, 
And hustled off to tell a guy 

About the putts I blew, 
How I deserved a 66 

But got a gi. 

[8 5 ] 



IV 

THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

GOLF is overrun with mysteries and queer 
shifts because it carries more of the psycho- 
logical than any other game. But of them 
all, here is probably the main puzzle that has been 
put up to me in queries by any number of people: 
"Why is it that I can go out upon a certain day 
feeling perfectly fit in every way and play a most 
wretched game, while on other days, feeling out of 
sorts and in no condition to play well, my scores are 
unexpectedly low?" 

These peculiar conditions have probably con- 
fronted every man that ever followed the ancient 
Scottish game, for they form a part of the eternal 
question put forward by so many golfers all over the 
world: " Why is it that I can play so well upon some 

[86] 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

days — and so badly upon others? What is there in 
this game of golf that keeps the player so uncertain 
of his showing, regardless of his mental and physical 
feelings for the day?" 

AIDS AND SUGGESTIONS 

There is no set answer, of course, to the " Secret of 
Steady Golf" that might always fit in; but I believe 
there are certain aids and suggestions which will help 
wonderfully if properly followed out. 

In the first place, there are two features of golf 
which must be considered, above the mere ability of a 
player to play a certain shot. There are any number 
who can stand upon a tee in practice, and make shot 
after shot like a Vardon, Ray, or Taylor. But once 
out in the wear and tear of active competition they 
are all over the course without a shot left. These 
two main features, mentioned before, are Nerve and 
Control of Nerve — quite separate and distinct, but 
entirely too often confused. 

It not only takes Nerve to win at golf, but in 

[8 7 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

addition the complete control of nerves. There are 
men who have raw courage enough to charge a lion's 
den, but who haven't control of nerves enough to 
make a three-foot putt in a tight match. Nerves 
must be used as something more than the plural of 
Nerve, as used in the sporting sense. The two are 
not the same. 

CONTROL OF NERVES 

" But how," asks the duffer, "can I get this control 
of nerves?" 

How do you learn to play a mashie or to putt? For 
the most part by practice. And that is how one 
must learn control of nerves — by practising this 
matter of control just as one practises swinging a 
club. The golfer must learn how to get a grip upon 
himself, and he can learn this by practising the 
development of that rarest of all aids to good golf — 
concentration. 

There is one thing that has helped me more in 
match play than any other factor, and that is to play 
each shot by itself — to forget what has gone before and 

[88] 




LIFTING THE BALL WITH THE BODY AND ARMS 
NOT LETTING THE CLUB DO THE LIFTING 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

think only of the shot immediately before you. This 
faculty didn't come naturally or easily. It came 
only through hard practice in concentration, practice 
that came harder than learning how to use a mashie 
or a putter, for it wasn't as real and as much before 
me. 

AN EXAMPLE 

Here's an example of what I mean: One summer 
at Baltusrol I was playing Oswald Kirkby in the fi- 
nal round of the Jersey State Championship. 

In the afternoon we had come to the thirteenth 
hole, neck and neck, after the hardest sort of a match. 
This hole is about 220 yards long, the drive being 
over a deep ditch about 160 yards from the tee. 
Kirkby played and got a beautiful shot to the edge of 
the green. I topped my shot, and when I found the 
ball, discovered it just halfway down the embank- 
ment. The hole looked to be all over, for I was in an 
almost unplayable position, as it was raining and I 
could get no stance. 

If I had fretted over missing my tee shot or both- 

[89] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

ered about the lie of the ball I wouldn't have had a 
chance. But I had only one thought in mind, and that 
was the next shot ahead — the shot left to get that 
ball somewhere and someway out of the ditch. I 
took a niblick, swung down hard, and then had to 
jump to keep from slipping as I made the shot. I 
almost had to hit the ball while I was still in mid-air, 
jumping over the ditch. I got it out, regardless of 
distance, and then found I had played far over the 
green into a high and heavy patch of grass beyond. 
The only thought I had then was still the next shot, 
how to get out of that young wheatfield back on the 
green in three. It was not up to me to pay any 
attention to the fact that my opponent was on the 
edge in one. It was only up to me to get as close to 
the hole as I could in three, since I already had 
played two strokes. I finally got on twelve feet 
below the cup in three and ran down my four. 1 1 was 
a hard green to putt on and conditions were bad, so 
when Kirkby finally needed a four I had drawn a half. 
Now if I had wasted any time in bothering or 

[90] 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

worrying about the trouble I had got in, I wouldn't 
have had a chance. But the part that helped me 
was the old practice of concentration, of concentrat- 
ing exclusively on the shot ahead and not the mis- 
take behind. This concentration isn't coming to you 
with a whistle. It is only coming by hard work, by 
mental application, by drilling yourself. But when 
it does come it will be of invaluable aid. 

LOOK TO THE GAME — NOT THE ALIBI 

Here's another point — make a practice of taking 
each lie as you find it, without blaming your bad 
luck. I watched Harry Vardon carefully, and I 
noticed that his expression never changed, whether 
his ball was lying badly or well set up. You must 
make up your mind that all bad lies are a part of 
golf, an expected part, and that they are coming to 
you in every round. Bad luck, like good luck, is a 
part of the game, and there will be enough good luck 
to offset the bad if you will only stop and look back 
at the end of the round. 

[91] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Look at the game itself, the game as it comes, not 
to the alibi, or excuse for making a bad shot. 

THE CASE OF JIMMY ALLEN 

The first year that Vardon won the British Open 
the British Amateur was held at Muirfield, Scotland. 
One of the amateur entries was a youngster known 
as Jimmy Allen. He lived a good many miles from 
the course, and being poor he had to walk over every 
morning to play. He was so poor, in fact, that he 
didn't have money enough to buy nails for his shoes 
to prevent him from slipping. He had only a few 
old clubs in his bag, but among them he had neither 
a driver nor a putter. Before the championship 
started, he borrowed an old driver from the club pro- 
fessional and decided to do his putting with his cleek. 

Now here was a golfer who had every alibi in the 
world to offer. He had to walk a good many miles to 
reach the course, play in shoes without a hobble, 
drive with a borrowed driver, and putt on fast greens 
with a cleek. 

[92] 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

But he wasn't thinking of an alibi, or an excuse, or 
worrying about his luck. His entire mind was con- 
centrated on winning that championship and playing 
the best golf he knew how to play. And at the end 
of the week he was amateur golf champion of Great 
Britain. 

He had fine ability, of course. But it was ability 
working under a handicap that would have stopped 
most others from even considering the thought of 
entering the tournament. He not only entered, but 
he took his slippery shoes, borrowed driver, and 
transformed cleek as a part of the game, and won. 

GOLF TEMPERAMENTS 

This all, of course, gets back to golf temperaments. 
Concentration is far easier for some golfers than it is 
for others. The two finest golf temperaments in 
America I have ever known belong to Walter J. 
Travis and young Francis Ouimet. 

It isn't given to every golfer to have the Ouimet 
temperament — a gift in his case, because he is too 

[93] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

young to have developed it so thoroughly — the 
temperament to know that you have to play the last 
four holes one under par to tie two masters — and to 
do it with about as much strain as one would require 
to eat a scrambled egg. 

I have heard it said that Ouimet in that match 
was dazed, and so was numb to the strain. On the 
other hand, he wasn't any more upset or worried than 
if he had been off by himself playing a few practice 
shots. It isn't for every man to have or to develop 
the Travis or the Ouimet temperament, but he can at 
least greatly improve his own by mental application, 
by schooling his mind or brain just as he schools his 
hands and arms and feet. And he must keep at it 
until it is fixed through force of habit, just as the 
stance and the grip are fixed. Thinking about it once 
in a while won't do any good. He must keep at it 
until control is fairly well established, and if he does 
he will be surprised to find how much steadier his 
game is growing, and how much strain is lifted from 
him through a round. 

[94] 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

OUIMET'S SYSTEM 

Ouimet has cultivated the system of entering each 
hard match with the idea uppermost that he will take 
the game as it comes. " I believe," he says, " that it 
is bad policy to start a hard match too optimistic — 
too confident in your success. For then, if the tide 
turns against you, if you meet unexpected opposition, 
you are much more likely to start worrying. Lack of 
confidence is of course fatal. The thing to do is not 
to think about the result any more than possible, but 
to play each shot as it comes. 

"In my match against Vardon and Ray for the 
American Open I felt I had a faint chance to win, until 
about the fifth or sixth hole, when a bad shot gave 
me my first of expectancy. At this hole I hooked 
a shot out of bounds. This misplay cost only one 
stroke. If the shot had remained in bounds it 
would have been in an almost unplayable strip of 
woods, and would have certainly cost me heavily. 
As it was I got a half, and for the first time felt that 

[95] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

I was on my way; but I still stuck to my own game 
rather than theirs." 

REPRESSED ENERGY 

Golf is an entirely different game from baseball, 
football, or tennis. These are all contests of constant 
action, where nervous energy can help drive the 
player forward and keep him at top speed. But golf 
is a game of repressed energy. And that in the main 
is the answer to the question as to why a player, 
feeling unfit, often does unexpectedly well, and on the 
next day, primed for a fine round, does very poorly. 

On the first occasion his energy is dormant. His 
nerves, tired down, are at rest. There are no jumping, 
ambitious nerves to repress. He doesn't look up as 
badly, for he doesn't care enough where the shot goes. 
The result is relaxation and an easy, natural attitude, 
for, not caring or feeling in the mood to care, the 
player isn't working under any strain. 

But if he goes out expecting to play well, feeling fit 
for it, the odds are that his nerves are very much alive 

[96] 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

and will soon get the best of the battle, causing him 
to look up from the ball frequently through over- 
eagerness to follow the result of the shot. 

A player takes one stance and one grip for each 
club as he starts his round, and he must practise the 
knack of taking, as far as possible, one mental 
attitude — the attitude of ease and control, of con- 
centration upon the work ahead. 

BUSINESS MAN 

To the man in business, one engrossed with other 
matters, this concentration or steadiness can rarely 
be developed beyond a certain limit. For golf is a 
jealous mistress. You may notice how certain stars 
come forward, go into business, and then disappear 
from the winning ranks. This isn't only because 
they haven't quite as much time to play and practise, 
but also because the constant attention and thought 
they were once devoting to golf has been divided, 
and they find it difficult to keep on concentrating in 
a hard, close match. 

[97] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

This may not affect his long, game, but it is sure to 
count in the short game, and especially in putting. A 
business man, worried and bothered over business 
details, may think that he can go out on the course 
and entirely forget his troubles. But the subcon- 
scious effect is still there, and his game is sure to 
show it. He may forget on the surface, but the 
forgetting won't go very deep, and his score will soon 
begin to mount. 

Professionals give their entire time to golf, and, 
therefore, for the most part, rule the field. It isn't so 
much because they can play certain strokes any bet- 
ter, but because they have developed a greater steadi- 
ness, with little else to divert their attention from the 
game on or off the course. But what the business 
man can do is to improve conditions by practising 
shifting his concentration from business to golf, often 
a hard thing to do. For two seasons I was engaged in 
work not especially attractive to me, more or less 
nagging, and while I played a good bit of golf, I 
dropped completely out of the championship hunt. 1 

[98] 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 
was unable to concentrate as I had formerly done, 
and this helped put me out of it early. 

A HINT FROM VARDON 

The average golfer in England is far steadier than 
the average golfer in America, because over there the 
average golfer is willing to practise harder, while over 
here most of the golfers have no patience for anything 
except to play around the course in friendly rivalry 
with some opponent. 

Every golfer that ever played has at times felt the 
curse of unsteadiness in his game, the absence of touch 
or of something that was vital to the right stroke. 
But the world's record for unsteadiness probably 
goes to a certain California golfer. There was a 
team match scheduled between two clubs, each club 
picking its five best men. When the match started 
it was discovered that only four men had reported 
for one of the teams. The captain of the team that 
had a missing man saw, standing by, a club member 
with a handicap somewhere around 16 or 18 strokes. 

[99 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

His average game was about 98. As a rule he could 
be counted upon to go out in 50 and come back in 48. 
That day, to his own amazement and to the confusion 
of his opponent, he was out in 34 — eleven strokes 
better than he had ever played the course before for 
the first nine holes. This was an upset, but no 
worse than the upset that followed, for, after being 
out in 34, he was back in 63. He got his 97, but as no 
97 was ever gotten before. 

There was another rare instant of unsteadiness in a 
Metropolitan Championship played at Fox Hills, 
Staten Island. The qualifying round was over the 
thirty-six-hole route. One very well-known golfer 
astonished every one by playing the first eighteen 
holes in 99. Then, to the even greater astonishment 
of those present, he played the last eighteen in 74. 
Now here was a difference of twenty-five strokes in 
two consecutive rounds, played the same day over 
the same course. It seems impossible that there 
could be such a wide gap, but golf has known many 
sudden shifts. In the first round the player not only 

[ 100] 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

played bad golf, but everything broke against him. 
In the second round everything broke his way, and 
he quickly settled to a steady swing. 

These shifts, of course, are almost entirely mental 
— not physical. There might be a physical difference 
of three or four strokes, or perhaps five or six. But 
the difference between playing with confidence and 
playing in a state of upset nerves might be, as shown 
above, anywhere from ten to twenty-five strokes a 

round. 

HOODOO HOLES 

Most troubles in golf, after one has developed the 
main principles of a natural swing, are mental, not 
physical. I once heard a prominent amateur say 
that he wouldn't miss one shot a year if he could only 
keep his head still — could only keep from looking up. 
And he wasn't far from right. 

These mental troubles come in various ways. 
Golfers very often on their home courses have holes 
that furnish them any amount of trouble, holes not 
particularly hard, perhaps, but that are associated 

[IOI] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

with missed shots, until they get on the golfer's 
nerves. 

Trouble of this sort is all mental. The golfer, re- 
membering that he has played the hole badly on the 
round before, becomes over anxious, is too careful, 
and either jerks his head up or presses his shot. When 
he has played a hole badly two or three times in 
succession he makes up his mind the hole is a hoodoo 
proposition, and so begins to worry about it from the 
moment he reaches the tee. And very frequently this 
worry or foreboding, especially in a medal round, will 
start many holes before the ill-fated one is reached. 

Since a matter of this sort is purely mental it must 
be cured by mental application, and the best way is to 
school one's self to indifference, to practise the matter 
of concentration upon each shot, rather than of con- 
centration upon any trouble ahead. These mental 
lessons, as suggested before, must be practised as 
well as the physical ones. Since the mental is such a 
big part of the game, it stands to reason that it must 
receive its share of consideration. 

[ 102] 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

The point is that one must drill one's self to think 
about making, not missing, the shot. 

Take, in this respect, the case of the late Fred Tait, 
one of the greatest golfers that ever lived. Mr. Tait 
was a wonderful example of concentration upon the 
next shot ahead, forgetting mistakes behind and 
trouble that might come. In the final of his last 
championship at Prestwick, just before his death in 
the Boer War, he met the redoubtable John Ball. 
They were neck and neck coming to the well-known 
Alps, the seventeenth hole. Here Tait, coming up to 
the green, found that he had played his second shot 
into a bunker full of water, guarding the green. 
Without wasting time in crying his ill-luck, the lion- 
hearted Tait waded in grimly and played as fine a 
shot as if he had had the most perfect of lies, winning 
the championship. 

There is more to golf than mere shot making. The 
greatest shot maker in the world may not be the 
greatest golfer, for golf, in addition to ability to play 
shots properly, requires mental and physical stamina, 

[ 103] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

poise, concentration, nerve, and the control of the 
nerves. 

There is no such thing for any man as eternal 
steadiness, but there is no reason why most golfers 
shouldn't develop a much greater steadiness than is 
shown. It is all a matter of practising two things — 
the proper use of the club, and concentration, or 
nerve control. Remember, at each practice, or 
during each friendly round, to try and make your 
brain work as well as your arms and legs. Remem- 
ber, above all other factors, that it is vital to the suc- 
cess of the shot that you keep your head still — often 
referred to as " looking at the ball." Make it a point 
to school your brain as well as your muscles, for the 
brain is in control of the muscles. The golfer who 
can't concentrate, who doesn't practise concentration, 
will never be able to develop steadiness, although he 
may be a fine shot maker, and may be capable of some 
wonderful rounds. 

So, to put a few suggestions into compact, concrete 
form, the following are offered to those who desire a 

[ 104] 




at 



- 



MY FAULT LAY IN THE FACT THAT AS I STARTED MY CLUB 
BACK, I BENT MY WRIST TOO FAR, BREAKING THE SWING 



THE SECRET OF STEADY GOLF 

change for the better in the golfing steadiness, or un- 
steadiness: 

i. Practise concentration — keeping your mind on the 
ball as well as your eye. 

2. Make up your mind to accept a bad lie or some bad 
luck as part of the game and to be expected. 

3. Play each shot as it comes, without regret over past 
mistakes or worry over future troubles. 

4. Practise the short game, shots around the green, at 
every possible chance. It is here that scores are reduced. 

5. Practise with the brain, as well as with the arms 
and legs. Cultivate brain control over muscle. 



[105] 



THREE UP ON ANANIAS 

A group of golfers sat one day 

Around the Nineteenth Hole, 
Exchanging lies and alibis 

Athwart the flowing bowl; 
" Let's give a cup," said one of them, 

A sparkle in his eye, 
" For him among us who can tell 

The most outrageous lie." 

"Agreed" — they cried — and one by one 

They played 'er under par, 
With yarns of putts and brassie shots 

That travelled true and far; 
With stories of prodigious swipes — 

Of holes they made in one — 
Of niblick shots from yawning traps 

As Vardon might have done. 
[ 106] 



THREE UP ON ANANIAS 

And then they noticed, sitting by, 

Apart from all the rest, 
A stranger who had yet to join 

The fabricating test; 
"Get in the game," they said to him, 

"Come on and shoot your bit" — 
Whereat the stranger rose and spoke 

As follows — or to wit: 

"Although I've played some holes in one, 

And other holes in two; 
Although I've often beaten par, 

I kindly beg of you 
To let me off— for while I might 

Show proof of well-earned fame, 
I NEVER SPEAK ABOUT MY SCORES- 

OR TALK ABOUT MY GAME." 

m m • • • 

They handed him the cup at once, 

Their beaten banners furled; 
Inscribing first below his name — 

THE CHAMPION OF THE WORLD. 
[ 107] 



GOLF AND THE FICKLE GODDESS 

WHAT part does the Fickle Goddess — 
Luck, Fate, Chance, or what you may 
care to call her — play in Golf? 
According to Walter J. Travis and other experts 
luck is only a small part of the game. They point 

to the fact that Vardon, Braid, and Taylor are the 
three greatest golfers in the world, and that among 

them they have won sixteen British Open Champion- 
ships, showing that merit succeeds above any other 
factor. 

Merit, or ability, undoubtedly succeeds above any 
other factor. But this doesn't mean that blind luck 
plays no important part in individual matches. 
Good luck has won — and hard luck has lost — more 
than one well-played, hard-fought match over the 

[108] 



GOLF AND THE FICKLE GODDESS 

sweep of the ancient green. In the long run luck 
may even up, but in an 18-hole or a 36-hole match, 
luck may be all on one side, or largely enough on one 
side to decide the issue. 

Those who refuse to credit this should ask John 
G. Anderson. Some years ago Anderson met Chick 
Evans in the final round for the Amateur Champion- 
ship of France. For thirty-seven holes these two 
fought out a brilliant duel of wood and iron without 
advantage. The second extra hole was a par 4. 
Evans's tee shot was well below his average, and 
Anderson had visions of victory at last. Teeing the 
ball up he took his stance. Just as he reached the 
top of his swing, and the club head started for the 
ball, a large touring car swept around the road curve 
and emitted a series of loud and raucous honks 
just a few yards behind the player. Under the high, 
nervous tension Anderson naturally shied, swung 
wildly, struck the ball high up in the heel of the club, 
and dispatched it to an unplayable lie back of a tree 
to the left of the course where he required three 

[ 109] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

shots to play out. He was on the green in 5 and 
went down in one put, getting a 6. Evans finally 
had to hole a 10-foot putt for a win in 5. 

BLOW FOR EVANS 

Fortune favoured Evans that day, but the fickle 
goddess hasn't always been with the Chicago star. 
In fact, he has had more than his share of tough 
breaks. At Ekwanok, in 1 9 1 4, the Western star drew 
Eben M. Byers, one of the hardest fighters of the 
game, in his first round of match play. The two 
came to the last hole all square. Byers got away a 
short tee shot that barely cleared the rough. Evans 
half topped his drive into the long grass in front of 
the tee. 

One hundred and fifty yards beyond this long 
grass there was a deep ditch to catch a poorly played 
second shot. Recent rains had left the fairway 
soft where the ball generally struck with but little 
run, frequently not travelling over a yard or two, 
even after a drive. Playing from the heavy grass, 

[no] 



GOLF AND THE FICKLE GODDESS 

Evans used a light mashie and, attempting to play 
safely this side of the pitch, pitched at least twenty-five 
yards short. To the amazement of himself and the 
big gallery, the ball struck and bounded forward as if 
landing on stone, winding up in the ditch. This 
shot put Evans out of the championship, and to this 
day no one has been able to account for the terrific 
run of the ball, except that it struck upon a hard plot 
where 99-100 of the remaining area was soft and suf- 
ficiently soggy to have left an easy poke for the green 
and the certainty of a halved hole. 

In the same tournament at Ekwanok Francis 
Ouimet had a hard match with young Max Marston, 
who was moving at top speed. They came to the 
fourteenth tee all even. Just in front of this tee there 
is a veritable chasm to carry, 30 or 40 feet deep and 
at least 1 50 feet wide. A topped shot almost surely 
means disaster here, for at the bottom there is a 
flooring of rock and underbrush, leaving an unplay- 
able lie nine times out of ten. Ouimet's shot, badly 

[mi 



THE WINNING SHOT 

topped, spun into this cavernous depth. No one 
figured that he had a chance to even get a half, as 
Marston's long drive sailed within short pitching 
distance of the green. But when Ouimet descended 
and found his ball, it was resting nicely in an open 
spot, and from here he proceeded to play out in one 
shot, land on the green, go down in one put, and win 
with a 3 against Marston's par 4. This put him one 
up, and it was by that narrow margin that he won 
the match. Granted that the amateur champion 
made a brilliant, courageous shot; but how often 
does a golfer find a perfect lie in a cavern replete with 
rocks and huge boulders and a heavy undergrowth? 

Two golfers will top their seconds into a bunker. 
One will lie nicely, awaiting an easy pitch out to the 
green. The other will be jam up against the bank or 
in a heel print in the sand, where there will be at least 
the difference of a stroke. Breaks in luck of this 
type occur frequently. There are also breaks where 
one man's topped shot will stop just short of a trap 

[112] 



GOLF AND THE FICKLE GODDESS 

where another's runs deeply in, making the difference 
of a stroke or more. Ted Ray, for example, will never 
forget the sixteenth hole at Sandwich. The par here 
is 3, and a 4 would have given Ray the champion- 
ship that year. His tee shot caught the trap, and 
when he came to the ball, it was not only up against 
the side of the bunker, but was lying deep in a heel 
print. Ray is a master of the niblick, and the one he 
carries is more like a shovel. But even with this 
doughty weapon he was unable to dislodge the ball, 
and at his second vain shot he saw the championship 
pass on beyond. A few minutes later on Harold, 
with a 3 to win at this hole after Ray had failed, put 
his tee shot in almost the identical spot and he 
found lodgement in a heel hole that looked as if some 
one had blasted out the spot. Hilton, too, was un- 
able to get out, and lost his chance. 

In both cases you say this was the result of a poor 
tee shot and not of hard luck. This is only partly 
so. Nine times out of ten Ray would have been 
able to play out from any trap with the loss of only 

[113] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

that one stroke. But one poor shot cost him at least 
two more, which is a heavier penalty than Dame 
Fortune should ordinarily require. 

Perhaps no one has a harder-luck case to cite than 
Jack Hobens, the Englewood, N. J., professional. 
One spring Hobens played in the North and South 
Open Championship at Pinehurst. Over the full 
route he finished in a tie with Alex. Ross. The play 
off followed, and nearing the finish Hobens was a 
stroke to the good. At this point he hooked his tee 
shot to the edge of the fairway, but the ball was rest- 
ing where he had an easy iron shot to the sand green. 
As his club came back the shaft or blade struck a vine 
somewhere in the rear, and it so happened that this 
particular vine had an almost invisible creeper at- 
tached which rested directly under the ball. The 
result was that the ball was jostled out of its position, 
costing one stroke, and Hobens then missed it com- 
pletely, costing another — for when his club head came 
in to the ball the aforesaid ball was several inches 

[i>4] 



GOLF AND THE FICKLE GODDESS 
beyond its original position. This attached creeper 
cost Hobens the championship, and all through no 
fault or mistake of his own. 

Another Englewood golfer with a legitimate claim 
to hard luck is Oswald Kirkby, metropolitan cham- 
pion. In 191 1 the Metropolitan Open was put on 
at his club. Kirkby was then playing brilliant golf, 
with a good chance to win. He had recorded a round 
of 69 and was either leading the field at the time or 
within a stroke of the top. Coming to the twelth 
hole he had a chance to break 70 again and take the 
lead by a safe margin. This hole is only 300 yards 
long — an almost sure and an easily possible 3, as 
Kirkby was playing. He hooked his tee shot here, 
and when he came to the ball found that it had rolled 
into a crevice in a stone ledge to the left of the course. 
It was probably the one spot within a radius of 
20 yards that would have cost more than one 
shot. When Kirkby finished he had required 8 
strokes and his chance for the championship had 
passed. 

[115] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

All luck, however, isn't bad luck. When Jamie 
Anderson was playing in the British Open at St. 
Andrews one year, he teed his ball and stepped up to 
play an iron shot for the green. As he was making 
his preliminary address a small urchin standing by 
called out, "Hey, Jamie — ye're outside the disks." 
Anderson looked and saw that the urchin was right. 
Moving the ball back to its proper location Jamie 
then proceeded to hole out in one shot. With that 
break in his favour there could be only one answer: 
he won the championship. 

In a tournament at Apawamis two golfers of fair 
ability were playing a practice round the day before 
scheduled proceedings were to begin. Near the fin- 
ish one of them, swinging a mashie, struck the other's 
knee and left a deep cut. The injured player was 
carried into the clubhouse bewailing his hard luck. 
The next day, limping badly, he entered the tourna- 
ment just to get in a round of golf more than anything 
else. At the start he was still complaining of the 
hard blow Fate had struck him. To his great sur- 

[u6] 



GOLF AND THE FICKLE GODDESS 

prise and the surprise of others he not only qualified 
in a higher flight than he had ever figured on, but 
he emerged the winner of this flight with several of 
the best rounds he had ever played. The answer 
is that his supposedly hard luck had been good luck. 
After his accident he was forced to take an easy 
swing, he had no chance to press, and as a result he 
kept straight down the course. He had to play 
safe rather than take a chance on any long shot, and 
so through the margin of an injured knee he did bet- 
ter than he had ever done in his golfing career. 

In the main most golfers will find that luck pretty 
well evens up. The trouble is that the golfer will 
remember bitterly the putt that hit the cup and 
jumped out, or the bad lie which cost a shot, for- 
getting the topped mashie that ran dead to the hole 
or the topped brassie that jumped through a bunker 
and bounded merrily upon the green. He will re- 
member the short four-footer that rimmed the cup 
but will make no mention of the thirty-footer that 

[117] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
dropped in with a resounding cluck and saved from 
one to three strokes. He will remember the long 
carry that just caught the trap, forgetting the poorly 
played blow that just stopped short of trouble. 

There is plenty of luck in golf, good luck and bad 
luck, but the winning golfer is the one who takes 
both as they come, all as a part of the game. 



[118] 



DOUBLE-CROSSING TRADITION 

(The best showing made by an American amateur of 
late years was by Heinrich Schmidt at St. Andrews.) 

When a Schmidt at St. Andrews can beat a Mac- 
Phearson 

And beat him a good city block; 
When a Heinie can bandy a cleek with a Sandy 

And finish two up on a Jock; 
When the swirl of the kilts at the top d the swipe 

Finds a German is nearer the plat, 
What is left in the name or the slant of a game 

That can stand for a sputter like that, 
Aye, mon, 

That can stand for a sputter like that? 

When the home of the stymie, the green, and the putter 
Finds Rabbie and Jock by the tee, 

[119] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Gating wildly at chronic approaches Teutonic 

That trickle up dead for a " three" — 
When it's aye doonricht certain that Scotia's curtain 

Must yield to a Heinrich or such, 
Where's the future in store that can heal up the sore 

Of a stymie set up by the Dutch, 
Hoot, mon, 

Of a stymie set up by the Dutch ? 



[ 120] 



VI 

HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

NEARLY every golfer has his favourite club. 
With some this club is a driver; with others 
a mid-iron or a mashie; with still others it is 
the putter. 

Any number of plain, ordinary average golfers, far 
from the championship lists, are masters with one 
club. Any number of these average golfers, who are 
wonders at pitching a mashie shot close to the hole, 
are badly defective in their driving and long iron play. 
Any number of golfers who rarely play below eighty- 
eight or ninety are better putters than many stars. 

In practically all other games there is but one club 
to use. I n golf there are from five to ten clubs in use, 
and at least five distinct shots — the drive, the full 
iron, the mashie pitch, the chip shot, and the putt. 

[121] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Each is played differently and requires a particular 
kind of skill. So an average golfer may be good with 
one certain club and poor with another. There are 
clubs in the bag which a golfer takes out with great 
confidence, and others which he takes out with great 
fear and reluctance, although the latter may be easier 
clubs for most to use than the former. All of which 
is a part of the mystery of the game. 

APPLIES TO STARS AS WELL 

This liking for a certain club or for certain clubs, 
and distrust for other clubs, isn't confined to the 
duffer or to the average golfer. It applies as well to 
the great stars of the game — to the Vardons, the Hil- 
tons, the Ouimets, the Taylors, and the Braids. 

Take the case of Francis Ouimet, American Open 
Champion for 191 3 and Amateur Champion for 19 14. 
Ouimet, to my mind, is the soundest of all American 
amateurs when every club in the bag is to be con- 
sidered. He is no better than Evans from the tee up 
to the green, but he is a far better putter. 

[ 122] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

Yet if I had to pick out one club with which 
Ouimet is best, I should say the driver. He is a fine 
wooden-club player, especially on brassie shots from 
fairly close lies, the supreme test of wooden-club play. 
When he beat Vardon and Ray at Brookline he was 
as accurate with the wood as Vardon, and almost as 
long as the mighty Ray. 

A OUIMET SHOT 

In the Amateur Championship, held at Ekwanok, 
Ouimet and W. C. Fownes had one of the hardest 
matches of the week. Fownes was one up at the 
thirty-fourth hole but lost the thirty-fifth, bringing 
them to the last hole all square. This hole, about 
450 yards, played as it was against the wind, with the 
course soft, calls for two fine shots to make the green. 
Both got away good drives, but Fownes was unable 
to get home on his second. 

1 saw Ouimet walk up to his ball and study the lie 
and the distance. He had a close lie that ordinarily 
would have called for an iron shot. If he topped with 

[ 123] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

his brassie there was a deep ditch ahead that meant 
disaster. But he reached for the wood, and as he did 
so I turned to a friend and remarked, "That ends 
the match; he'll put this on the green sure." I knew 
what he could do with that wooden club. The result 
was a wonderful shot, 220 yards from a close lie 
against the wind plump into the middle of the green 
for a sure four and the match. If he hadn't been a 
master of the wood he would never have got on, and 
Fownes might have beaten him later on. 

THE CASE OF HILTON 

Harold Hilton, the great English amateur, is a 
finely rounded golfer, but I should say his two favour- 
ite shots are the spoon and the chip shot. It is my 
belief that from sixty yards up to the green, Hilton 
goes down in two oftener than any other golfer in the 
world. Not that he is such a wonderful putter, but 
largely because he nearly always lands that chip shot 
within easy putting distance. 

Hilton is almost as accurate with a spoon, a 

[ 124] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

wooden club for closer lies and shorter distances than 
the brassie calls for. In his match at Sandwich 
against Harris in the British Amateur, Hilton came 
to a shot which called for a 200-yard distance, with a 
strong following wind. He could have reached the 
green easily with a mid-iron. I would never have 
thought of using any other club. To my surprise he 
took out his spoon and played with an easy swing, 
placing the ball within eight feet of the hole and then 
sinking his putt. It was a ticklish shot, and so he 
went to the club in which he had greatest confidence. 
Yet nine golfers out of ten would have found the mid- 
iron much the easiest and much the safest club to use 
at that point. 

JOHN BALL AND THE MID-IRON 

John Ball, eight times British Amateur Champion, 
who won his first championship in 1888 and his last 
one in 1912, twenty-four years apart, like Hilton, is a 
master of nearly every club in the bag. 

But Ball can do tricks with a mid-iron that no 

[125] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

other golfer would ever think of doing. He lives at 
Hoylake, and very frequently goes out for a round 
with nothing but a mid-iron. A big part of the time 
he doesn't even take a mashie along — the one club 
considered the most necessary of all clubs in the 
bag. 

Just before the British Amateur Championship, in 
191 3, Ball was standing in a bunker playing shots 
from a deep trap where most golfers would have been 
thankful to get out with a niblick. Ball was using a 
mid-iron. Shot after shot he laid up within putting 
distance of the cup. It looked to be so easy that a 
certain golfer, one of the best, figured that he could, 
also, make the shot. " Here, let me take a crack at 
it," he said to Ball. Ball smiled and handed the mid- 
iron over. The golfer descended into the trap, waled 
away, and came near losing an eye. The ball struck 
the side of the trap and came back so swiftly that one 
of the experimenter's optics was closed. 

In a hard match at Hoylake, Ball came to the 
fourteenth hole, where the second shot frequently 

[ 126 ] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

catches a heavy patching of whins short of the green. 
Ball's second landed in these whins and he had a 
tough lie. 1 expected to see him take a niblick, and 
was wondering whether he could even get out with 
this club. But he again reached for his mid-iron, and 
not only played the ball out, but with such terrific 
back spin that it carried low and still pulled up as if it 
had been pitched with a mashie-niblick. 

AN AMERICAN MARVEL 

One of the most pronounced instances of su- 
premacy with one club is that of Jesse Guilford, the 
New Hampshire player. Although a good golfer, he 
was hardly known beyond the borders of his native 
state until the Amateur Championship at Ekwanok. 
Here, within a few days, he was one of the sensations 
of the tournament, and largely through the terrific 
distance he was able to get with his driver. 

Guilford is a powerfully built young fellow, weigh- 
ing about one hundred and ninety pounds, but he 
was figured as a young country boy who knew little 

[ 127] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
about the game. But those looking for an easy 
match were given another guess when they saw him 
hit a few from the tee. Using a swing that came 
back to his left heel, and crashing in with fine timing 
and terrific force, Guilford was from fifteen to thirty 
yards farther than Kirkby, HerreshofT, and others 
regarded as the longest hitters in the game. Ouimet 
drives a long ball, but he couldn't get within twenty- 
five yards of Guilford. On one occasion, when Guil- 
ford hit one that looked as if it would never land, the 
distance of the carry alone was measured and found 
to be 3 1 2 yards ! A carry of 200 yards or 220 yards is 
supposed to be a long one. 

On holes of 450 yards, where his opponent was 
using a drive and a full brassie, Guilford was easily 
home with a drive and a mashie. Once he drove into 
the ditch at the eighteenth hole, put there to catch 
the second shot — and this ditch is fully 330 yards 
from the tee, if not a bit longer. All this with the 
ground soft from recent rains. 

How did he get all this distance ? Simply by fine 

[128] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

timing, great physical strength, and an overswing 
that few golfers could control. If the average good 
player swung at a golf ball as Guilford does, he would 
be lucky to get two shots in ten anywhere near the 
center of the course. Guilford's swing is absolutely 
free without a cultivated touch. 

THE STAR TRAVIS SHOT 

Walter J. Travis, the American veteran, has 
always been an accurate player. And yet but for 
one club he has lacked the distance, both with wood 
and iron, to reach championship heights. 

This one club that has saved Travis is the putter, 
and especially when he uses it for an approach putt. 
I don't believe any other man that ever played has 
laid as many long approach putts dead to the hole. 
This applies not only on the green, but off the green, 
where most golfers would use a jigger, a mid-iron, or a 
mashie. But if the surface is fairly smooth Travis is 
sure to reach for his putter, although five or ten yards 
from the edge of the green, and he is almost as sure 

[ 129] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

to place the ball within easy putting distance if he 
doesn't lay it absolutely dead. 

It was with this shot, in the main, that Travis won 
the British Amateur Championship. Although in 
place of laying these long approaches dead he was 
holing a big share of them, going down in one from 
distances where Blackwell, his opponent, was fighting 
to get down in two. 

It is almost uncanny to watch Travis on a putt 
thirty feet away, and see how close to the cup his shot 
invariably stops, leaving him practically nothing to 
do on his next shot, which often is the most nerve- 
racking of them all — the putts of three and four feet. 

VARDON AND EVANS 

In many ways the play of Vardon and Evans re- 
mind me more of each other than any other two in 
the game. Both are fine off the tee. Vardon' s best 
shot is a full iron to the green and close to the pin, and 
this, too, I consider the best shot Evans carries. Once 
on the green, both are poor putters; but Vardon is a 

[ 130] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

better putter than Evans, for there are many oc- 
casions when Vardon putts unusually well. 1 1 is only 
in comparison with the rest of the game that his 
putting looks bad. If these players were fine putters 
they would never be beaten, except by each other. 

DISPELLING A MYSTERY 

It might be just as well here to dispel some of the 
mystery which many golfers carry in regard to wood 
and iron play. 

Off the tee, the golfer has a full, free swipe at the 
ball. There is no restriction as to distance. He can 
hit it as hard as he likes, his main object being to 
keep the ball straight down the course. In this shot 
there is no need of any muscular control. It is 
merely a matter of having the right swing and keep- 
ing the head still. 

But take a shot of 140 yards; here the element of 
control enters; here the golfer must have a grip upon 
his strength. If he hits a straight shot 160 yards, he 
will be well over the green into some deep trap. If 

[131] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

he hits a straight shot 1 20 yards, he will drop short of 
the green into some deep trap. He must not only be 
straight, but he must hit that ball just 140 yards, or 
in that immediate neighbourhood. Some golfers who 
haven't the free swing or the snap to drive 200 
yards still have the nerve and muscular control nec- 
essary to play these short-distance shots accurately. 
Others who can drive 250 yards, where there is no re- 
straint to be placed upon their shots, lack the control 
to handle a club for a restricted shot. 

The chief fault generally in this latter respect is 
overswinging. A golfer who swings a mashie high up 
around his neck has no chance to compete in control 
with the golfer who comes only three quarters of the 
way back. And yet I should say that three golfers 
out of four, at least, swing entirely too far back on all 
iron shots. Yet they are surprised because they are 
unable to control a swing that would baffle a Vardon 
or a Braid. If they would only practise a shorter 
swing with the mashie or jigger, they would soon be 
surprised to see how quickly their game improved. 

[132] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

But no man can control a 140-yard shot with a swing 
that should drive a ball 200 yards. 

THE FREAK SHOT 

Once in a while, of course, by starting early and by 
constant practice a man may develop a freak shot 
with some club that few others could play. There is 
the case of H. D. Gillies, the great English amateur. 
When I first saw him play I thought he had a grave 
fault in pitching his mashie shots too high, hitting 
them from 120 yards away as if he intended to drive 
190. The ball would then travel high into the air, 
almost twice as high as an average mashie shot. It 
seemed impossible that any one could control this 
shot. Yet I soon found that Gillies had it mastered, 
and that he was as close to the pin as the best. 

Gillies could never have mastered this shot if he 
hadn't taken up the game very young, and perfected 
it while his muscles were still supple and easy to 
control. 

There is another golfer, a state champion, who 

[133] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

holds his hands six inches apart with every club. 
This violates every law of proper gripping. Yet by 
starting this freak grip while young he soon got the 
hang of it, made it natural, and now is a very steady 
player, although not so brilliant a one as he would 
have been had he spent the same amount of time and 
practice on a surer, simpler grip. 

THE BEST WORK OF TAYLOR 

It is queer how often a man is supposed to be at his 
best with one club, whereas the best part of his game 
may lie in another direction. I know in my own case 
that I am supposed to be better with the jigger than 
anything else, when I feel confident that, barring the 
putter, 1 have saved more matches with full iron 
shots from 200 yards or more away. 

1 had always heard that J. H. Taylor, five times 
British Open Champion, was ordinary off the tee, but 
did his greatest work with the mashie. On my last 
trip over, Fred Herreshoff and I played with Taylor 
one day at Suningdale. And of all the great driving 

[134] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

I have ever seen, Taylor that day gave a real ex- 
hibition. He was not so long as Braid, Ray, or 
Vardon, but he was long enough, and every tee shot 
was as accurately placed as if he walked down and 
dropped the ball with his hand. It was almost be- 
yond belief. His direction was not a matter of yards, 
but of feet and inches. I commented on this that 
night, and two English golf reporters who happened 
to be around then said that Taylor's best work was 
off the tee, just where he was supposed to be weakest. 
They mentioned the fact that his control with the 
wood was especially valuable in tournament play on 
windy or rainy days, where he still maintained his 
deadly accuracy down the course. 

braid's play 

Vardon, Taylor, and Braid are the Big Three of 
golf. Braid is a very fine wooden-club player, not as 
accurate as Vardon or Taylor, but above the average. 
But Braid, I should say, was the weakest of the three 
in iron play— and the best putter of the lot. In fact, 

[135] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

I should say he is the best putter among the pro- 
fessionals abroad. With wood and iron play that 
would have meant sure defeat to Vardon, Braid has 
been able to win championships with his exceptional 
putting. In addition to which he is a rare fighter, 
and this, too, has been a big factor in his success. 

THE CLASH OF IRONS 

The most spectacular feature of any tournament 
comes when two fine iron players meet. This was 
proved in the great match at Ekwanok for the Am- 
ateur Championship between Chick Evans and Eben 
Byers. Byers that day was driving poorly, but was 
playing his iron shots finely and putting brilliantly. 
Evans was driving brilliantly, playing his irons well, 
and putting badly. Byers's bad driving was offset by 
Evans's poor putting, turning the match into a battle 
of the irons. 

When they came to the twelfth tee Byers was one 
up. This hole is about 340 yards, with the green 
over a hill and well tapped, a green hard to approach 

['36] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

and hold. Byers's drive was far off in the rough. 
Evans was straight down the course. From the 
high grass, 150 yards away, Byers brought applause 
from the gallery by playing his mashie to within two 
feet of the cup. It was a wonderful shot, and Evans 
looked to be beaten. But the applause for Byers 
soon broke into a roar, when Evans, from 140 yards 
away, laid his mashie shot within four inches of the 
cup, leaving two white balls nestled right at the hole. 
But Byers missed his short putt and the match was 
all even. He made up for this, however, by laying a 
160-yard shot at the fifteenth hole up within two feet 
of the cup, winning the hole, and finally winning the 
match by this margin. 

No matter how wonderfully a man may be driving, 
if he is off with his irons or is putting poorly, he has 
but little chance. A good long putt may save many 
a poor drive or bad iron shot, but a missed short putt 
spoils the best drive ever made. 

Probably no man who ever won a championship 
has had as much trouble with the wood as I have. 

[■37] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

The queer part of it is that, after missing wooden- 
club shots, I can pick up a driving iron and get both 
distance and direction. But in this way I believe 
that frequently being off with one club has a tendency 
to improve a man's play with another. It drives 
him into a desperation that often seems to produce 
results. After missing a tee shot I know then, in my 
own case, that I can't afford to make any more mis- 
takes, and so in a way get more careful and take a 
harder grip upon myself. When a man doesn't get a 
chance to loaf in a tight match he loses that feeling of 
over-confidence, and when he recovers from a bad 
position the psychological effect is all his way. 

HARDEST AND EASIEST SHOTS 

1 have heard many debates as to the hardest and 
the easiest clubs to play. I should say the hardest 
shot in the game, the one that has fewer masters, is 
the full iron shot to the green. Running a close 
second is the mashie pitch. There are fewer golfers 
by far who can play these two shots well than those 

[138] 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

who are good drivers or good putters. The easiest 
shot in golf is the drive, and the simplest is the putt. 
But as putting is almost purely a mental proposition, 
it probably varies more with all players than any 
other shot. 

You see very few good sound iron players, especially 
among the amateurs in America. In England their 
iron play is much better. The main difference be- 
tween the professionals and the amateurs is all in 
iron play. There are amateurs who can putt better 
than the best professionals. There are many who 
can drive as well. But there are, in America, only 
two or three who can play an iron up to the pro- 
fessional standard. 

It is hard to explain just why certain clubs appeal 
so strongly to certain players. In much the same 
way a baseball player becomes attached to a certain 
bat. It may not suit another player, but it has ex- 
actly the right feeling for him. 

Here and there the golfer runs across a club with a 
perfect balance. When he gets a club of that type 

[139] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

money could hardly buy it. In England, on my last 
trip, I happened to pick up a certain light iron in a 
professional's shop. It was rusty and several years 
old. Yet I knew the minute I got my hands on that 
club it was exactly what I wanted. The professional 
was glad to sell an old club cheap. So I bought it 
for a dollar. The next day Fred Herreshoff picked 
it up, and offered me five dollars for my bargain. I 
refused, and he offered me ten dollars. He finally 
offered twenty-five dollars, but I told him it was not 
for sale. 

Some years ago "Snake" Ames, the old Princeton 
football star, who is also a fine golfer, had a mashie in 
his bag which he rarely used. One day he handed it 
to Oswald Kirkby, who had been looking for a mashie 
that suited him. "It's exactly the club I've been 
looking for," said Kirkby. " Please keep it then," 
said Ames, " I've been looking for a chance to get rid 
of it." 

Within a week two golfers offered Kirkby thirty 
dollars for the club, but fifty dollars would not have 

[ HO] 




MORE BAD SHOTS ARE MADE FROM "LOOKING UP" — NOT LOOKING AT 
THE BALL — THAN ANY OTHER ONE FACTOR 



HEROES OF WOOD AND IRON 

tempted him. And any new mashie on the market 
can be bought for three dollars. The feel and 
balance of this club merely happened to have an 
appeal to several players beyond that of any other 
mashie they had ever used. Yet to its original 
owner it was worthless. This club is now Kirkby's 
prize possession, and it isn't for sale at any price. 

When a man gets a club of this sort, whether it be 
driver, brassie, iron, or putter, he is almost sure to 
play it well. For a big part of golf is confidence. If 
a golfer believes he can make a certain shot, he can 
generally make it. If he has unusual confidence in a 
certain club, he is almost sure to use it well; and in 
every hard match he is equally sure to use it at every 
chance, even when at times the shot would naturally 
call for a different sort of club. 

ray's pet club 

Edward Ray, ex-British champion, has a massive 
niblick that he uses for every pitch shot from 1 50 to 
50 yards. Where the average golfer would take a 

[14U 



THE WINNING SHOT 

full mashie or perhaps a jigger, Ray takes out this 
niblick for a high pitch that is almost sure to fall dead. 

At Baltusrol, in his match with Vardon against 
two American stars, he played a shot with this club 
that is still the talk of the big gallery which followed 
the contest. 

Coming to the sixth hole he hooked his shot behind 
a solid fringe of tall trees. There was absolutely no 
way to play through these trees to the green. And 
he was so close in that it seemed impossible that he 
could pitch over them. But calling for the spade- 
like niblick he shot the ball almost directly straight 
up from the turf, barely arching it over the trees and 
on to the green, within four feet of the hole, where he 
got a three, beating par by a stroke from a lie that 
hardly another golfer could have played at all. He 
simply had abounding confidence in this club, such 
confidence that he believed any miracle was possible 
with it. 



[ 142] 



A ROUND OF THE COURSE 

OR, THE RECREATIVE ADVANTAGES OF GOLF FOR THE 
TIRED BUSINESS MAN 

Worn out, depressed and melancholy , 
A victim of hard labour s folly, 
With nerves awry and out of gear, 
With sodden heart bereft of cheer, 
I sought, beyond the toiling scene, 
The solace of the ancient green. 



I needed rest and recreation, 
To foster mental elevation, 
Something to lift my morbid soul 
From out its sordid daily role, 
To give my f ranted nerves a rest 
From troubles that harassed my breast. 

[143] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

And so, with joyous buoyant mind, 

I left all work and care behind 

And beat it to the swarded plot 

Of soaring drive and mashie shot. 

I hit my opening drive a bang. 

" This is the life!" my gay heart sang. 

FIRST HOLE 

A noble shot — a lusty clout — 

In fact, a most amazing rap; 
And then I took my mashie out, 

To pitch beyond the guarding trap. 
Did I look up just as I hit ? 

Or did I shift my wrist or knee ? 
My topped ball fluttered to the pit 

And something died inside of me. 

SECOND HOLE 

/ teed one up to let it ride, 
To make up for that other miss; 

The doggone pill sailed furlongs wide 
And dropped into a deep abyss. 

I 144] 



A ROUND OF THE COURSE 

It took me eight before I got 

The hall at last into the hole, 
And though my niblick blade was hot, 

'Twas not as sultry as my soul. 



THIRD HOLE 

A corking drive — a mashie pitch 

That sailed upon its way serene, 
That cleared each guarding trap and ditch 

And landed lightly on the green. 
My sagging heart forgot its blight — 

Forgotten now each bitter curse; 
And then, with easy par in sight, 

I took four putts and felt still worse. 

FOURTH HOLE 

/ soaked the next one straight and true, 
And then — oh, ancient alibi! — 

/ bade all joy a last adieu — 
My ball had found a cuppy lie! 

['45l 



THE WINNING SHOT 
/ tore my hair and wept aloud, 

When I had flubbed, depressed and sore; 
And then, a blighted wretch and cowed, 

I marked eight more against my score. 

THE OTHER FOURTEEN 

/ made my way from bad to worse; 

I sliced and foozled, hooked and topped 
Until at last, with bitter curse, 

Upon the final green I flopped. 
And writhing there, a broken thing, 

My stark soul echoed one last cry — 
"Oh, Death, where is thy bitter sting 1 

Oh, Grave, where is thy victory ?" 

And this we label sport and fun, 

When other grinding work is done! 

And this we go to with a lest, 

For recreation and a rest 

" Tired business man" — a phrase inspired! 

My word! No wonder he is tired! 

[i 4 6] 



A BYRONIC APPEAL 

Game of golluf, heed this pote- 
Give, Oh, give me back my goat. 

Once I knew no care or sigh; 
Now I rave within my sleep; 
Once I could not tell a lie; 
Now I make my caddie weep; 
Once I knew no alibi; 
Now there's nothing else I keep. 

Once I never grew profane; 
Now I simply let ' er rip; 
Once I had a useful brain, 
Actively upon the flip; 
Now I waste my time in vain 
Grappling with the Vardon grip. 

[147] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Once Ambition was astir 

To succeed at trade — or books; 

Now I dabble in a whirr 

Of elusive "tops" and "books"; 

Once I gave my life to Her — 

Now I wonder bow she looks. 

Once I used to work a while; 

Now I never see the store; 

Once I could have made a pile; 

Now I only make a score; 

Once my presence meant a smile — 

Now I am an Awful Bore. 

Game of golluf, heed this pole — 
Give, Oh, give me back my goat. 



[148] 



VII 

VARDON — GREATEST GOLFER 

IF YOU should ever visit the British Isles while 
a big golf tournament is in progress and should 
desire to watch Harry Vardon, with no one 
around to point Vardon out, I can furnish you at 
least one simple direction that will make the quest 
easy: 

You will hardly discover him off the tee where there 
will be many far and straight. 

You will hardly be able to pick him out within one 
hundred and fifty yards of the hole where there will 
be many near the pin on their next shot. 

But when, out of the big field, you run across one 
man who is making the game look so easy that a child 
might play it, whose form is the last word in poetry, 
and who from one hundred and eighty to two hundred 

[ 149] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

and twenty yards is putting a full shot closer to the 
pin than most cracks can place a mashie, you may 
know that at last you are looking at the greatest 
golfer the world has ever seen — and your quest for 
Vardon will be over. 

Some wise sport philosopher has said: "When a 
race is run truly, the best is always first at the finish/' 
The championship of golf has been truly run then, 
for it is exactly fitting that of the sixteen open 
championships won by Britain's great triumvirate, 
Vardon should have won six, Braid five, and Taylor 
five, leaving the two latter only a short length back 
of the master workman. 

To my mind an intimate study of the golfing 
methods of Vardon, Braid, and Taylor, the Big Three, 
is the most interesting study connected with golf; not 
only because these three lead the field, but because 
they have reached the top over three separate trails 
of form and style. 

There are other great golfers in the world, notably 
Ted Ray and George Duncan among others, but 

[150] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

when all is said and written there can be no question 
that Vardon, Braid, and Taylor, with their sixteen 
world championships out of twenty years' play, are 
at present far in the front. 

THE BIG THREE 

It has been my pleasure to have played with James 
Braid and J. H. Taylor over their own native soil, 
and to have watched Vardon play in championship 
tests. And of my entire experience at golf, nothing 
has been so interesting to me as to make comparisons 
at close range of these three wizards. 

There can be no question that of them all Vardon 
is the nonpareil of the game, greater for a number of 
reasons, but largely because he has better control over 
a greater number of great shots. Of all golfers, his 
form is the most beautiful, the most rhythmic, the 
most perfect — to borrow a phrase out of joint. From 
that day, eighteen years ago, when at the age of 
twenty-six he stepped out and won his first British 
blue ribbon, the golfing world knew that a master 

[151] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
had come. For here was a golfer whose foundation 
was too sound to be rocked. His mental equipment 
was flawless. His disposition was even, unbroken, 
and placid — placid but not flabby. He had the ideal 
soul for the game, a soul that took each break of the 
game as it came to him without a quiver or a com- 
plaint. 

But even above all that, his mastery of a golf ball 
was complete. Playing with the old gutty ball, he 
could almost make it sit up and dance, eat out of his 
hand, with any club in the bag. It wasn't until the 
new lively ball came in and began to elude the cup 
from his putter that Vardon found a rival. Even 
then he had control of the ball from the tee up to the 
green, and only his putting prevented him from 
winning twelve championships in place of only six. 

vardon' s style 

I am not going into any technical explanation or 
description of all that Vardon does — of his style com- 
plete. But there are several important details worth 

[152] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

pointing out. In driving, Vardon makes the shot 
look absolutely simple. He has a free, easy swing, 
and while he gets good distance, he never makes any 
attempt to get all the distance possible. 

If you will notice most of the star golfers' driving 
in this country, you will see that they play with a 
round, flat swing that is inclined to produce a hooked 
ball. Vardon, on the contrary, employs an upright 
swing, in which he keeps the club head within the 
intended line of flight as long as possible. His is 
more of a pendulum affair, in which the timing is 
miraculously true. The timing of all Vardon's shots 
is truer than that of any other player, which can only 
be explained by saying that he was born with a 
championship knack and developed it, and held it by 
constant work and practice. 

Another point : Vardon, in place of bending his left 
knee well in toward the right at the top of his swing, 
bends it a trifle more to the front and just enough to 
brace himself and to develop perfect poise. 

In other words, Vardon seems to play each stroke 

[153] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

the easiest and the simplest way, which is the answer 
to perfect form. He takes the short cut. "The 
game is hard enough/' he says, "without making it 
any harder." 

HIS BEST SHOT 

But wherein, you may ask, is Vardon greater than 
Braid or Taylor, who are only one championship 
behind him? Vardon is longer than Taylor from the 
tee and a trifle steadier than Braid; but I should say 
the one feature in which Vardon excelled all others 
was in laying his full shots close to the pin. 

There are a number of golfers who from one 
hundred and forty to one hundred and sixty yards 
away are likely to lay a mashie shot or a half mid- 
iron close. But in the full shots Vardon alone is 
likely to keep on putting his second shot within eight 
or ten feet. Two hundred and twenty yards from 
the green the rest are content merely to get on the 
green with a brassie smash. But Vardon is always 
shooting for the cup, and with cleek or brassie you 
will find him on hole after hole up there close enough 

[154] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

for a putt — the sole part of the game where he must 
bow not only to Braid and Taylor, but also to many 
others. 

Except with the putter there seems to be no shot in 
golf beyond Vardon' s magic. I will explain, with 
one striking example, just what I mean. In one of 
his championship battles he had come to the seven- 
teenth hole at a tie, with one of his rivals for the top. 
His drive here travelled a trifle farther than he had 
calculated, and found a deep rut in a road crossing the 
course. His opponent, playing first, was nicely on 
the green in two for a sure four. It seemed that 
Vardon was beaten to a certainty. His ball was six 
inches below the top of the ground, in a deep, narrow 
rut, and the green was one hundred and forty 
yards away. Vardon took out a heavy niblick, and 
in place of playing to one side to be sure and get out, 
took his stance in the direction of the pin and brought 
the club down with terrific force. To the wonder of 
the big gallery the ball rose almost straight in the air, 
and then, with the forward spin imparted, sailed on 

[155] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

to within ten feet of the cup. The other man got his 
four, but Vardon got his three, winning a match that 
had been practically lost. 

With a mashie Vardon can not only put on a back 
spin that will hold the ball where it lands, but he has 
shown that he can impart such a big cut that it will 
hit and bound backward. 

FOILED AT LAST 

When Vardon won his first championship at 
Muirfield, those who saw the perfection of his form 
and the poise of his golfing temperament figured that 
at last a man had come who would rule the game for 
years. And so it seemed for the next few seasons. 
Then came one of the queer and sudden shifts which 
help give sport its lure. The old gutta-percha ball 
passed out, making way for the rubber core, a ball 
much livelier than the old make. Off the tee Vardon 
controlled this new ball as well as ever. He remained 
just as deadly upon his approaches, where delicate 
work is required. But, to the general amazement of 

[156] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

the golfing world and to his own disgust, it simply 
wrecked his putting. I can only explain this in the 
thought that he early lost confidence on the greens, 
and it never came back. For ten years he struggled 
with the putter, playing wonderful golf up to within 
thirty feet of the hole, only to drop championship 
after championship by abnormal weakness here. He 
lost one championship by missing a ten-inch putt. He 
was as helpless as a child, and it is only quite recently 
that he has begun to get back at least some of his old- 
time confidence. 

In my opinion, if Vardon had retained his putting 
skill he would have won twelve championships. His 
putting improved this last year, and he immediately 
stepped out in front again for his sixth victory. To 
show plainly what this loss of his putting confidence 
meant, some one figured up in the American Open of 
191 3 that Vardon missed, in the seventy-two-holes 
play, twelve putts that were fairly easy to make, 
while Ouimet sank twelve putts of the most daring 
and difficult type. 

[157] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

There are three details that have put Vardon in 
the front rank — the leader of them all. I will enu- 
merate them in order: 

i. He has the easiest, surest form of any golfer 
alive, the result of being born into a perfect swing. 

2. He has a wonderful temperament for the game, 
an even, steady poise that is never ruffled or upset, no 
matter how badly the break goes against him. He 

has learned the rare art of taking the game just as it 
comes, with never a complaint. 

3. He has had the advantage of keen competition 
over the most wonderful courses in the world, an ad- 
vantage no American golfer possesses — and unlike 
most professionals he practises at every chance. 
Vardon will work for hours with one club, not so 
much to improve his play — which could hardly be 
bettered — but to retain his skill and to make each 
stroke machine-like, to establish force of habit to 
such an extent that the club will almost play itself. 

Vardon has genius, and with it, a rare combination, 
the capacity for infinite patience. 

[158] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

After Vardon in golfdom, J. H. Taylor and James 
Braid come neck and neck. Each has won five 
World Championships, so there can be little choice. 
I had the pleasure of playing with Taylor over his 
home course, Mid-Surrey. 

Taylor, unlike Vardon or Braid, is a trifle short and 
thickset. He weighs fully two hundred pounds. He 
has a tremendous chest and broad shoulders. And, 
unlike Vardon and Braid, he makes no attempt to 
use the full swing in driving. He has proven, for the 
satisfaction of those who are physically unable to 
employ a full, free swing, that the half swing can 
be just as effective. 

TAYLOR OF THE MID-SURREY 

I had always heard that Taylor was a wizard with 
the mashie and a very fine putter. I n my round with 
him I found that this was true, but at the finish the 
thing that impressed me most about his game was 
his supposedly weakest point — his driving. 

English courses, or most of them, are so trapped 

[159] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

and bunkered that it is often necessary — not to drive 
straight down the middle, but to place the tee shot 
within a certain narrow limit, to the right or the left. 
By placing this shot exactly right the hole is opened 
up for a fairly easy second. In playing with Taylor 
I noticed after every tee shot that his ball would 
stop almost exactly at the spot where he would have 
walked up and placed it with his hand, if he had 
been permitted. With that short half swing, he is 
the most accurate driver that I have ever seen. It 
was not with him a question of yards, but of feet — I 
might almost say, inches. He was not nearly so long 
as Vardon or Braid; but no golfer that ever lived is 
as accurate when Taylor happens to be in the proper 
mood. 

Here again he differed from Vardon and Braid. 
Their mental state seemed to be always the same, 
while Taylor was a golfer of moods. He is much 
more inclined to worry about himself and his game. 
If he gets off he is likely to be badly off and his game 
will vary much more than Vardon' s will. 

[ 160] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

In 191 3, knowing his own accuracy, he was pray- 
ing for a windy, rainy campaign. The wind and 
the rain came, and Taylor started with wonderful 
confidence and won his fifth championship. 

This last year, by wonderful golf, he led Vardon 
for the first fifty-four holes. Then at the finish, 
when a fairly easy seventy-eight would have 
won for him, he suddenly developed the wrong 
mood, went badly off his game, and took an eighty- 
three. 

This same state of mind, or varying states of 
mind, showed the day I played with him. In the 
morning he went at a marvellous clip — getting a 
sixty-eight. He was absolutely unbeatable by any 
man. In the afternoon he started badly, began to 
bother, and played some twelve or fourteen strokes 
worse. 

In the 191 3 tournament I spoke of above, played 
at Holyoke in a wind and rain storm, Taylor, as I 
mentioned, started in one of his confident moods. 
And while conditions were ghastly — so bad that even 

[161] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

great golfers were playing many shots far out of 
line — Taylor in that seventy-two holes, requiring 
over three hundred shots, played but one ball off 
the course into the rough — one ball out of three 
hundred under conditions that made it almost im- 
possible to keep the line, with a blinding rain beat- 
ing down and a young hurricane blowing at shifting 
angles over the plain. 

Another evidence of Taylor's wonderful genius 
came in the 19 14 championship. In the first morn- 
ing round he played wonderful golf and scored a 
seventy-four, but one stroke back of Vardon. But in 
the afternoon his play fell badly back — he was wild 
and erratic, and was trapped time and again. The 
average good golfer under these same conditions 
would have been very lucky to have gotten an eighty- 
eight. But by the genius of his recoveries, and 
his wonderful and tremendous determination, he 
actually finished with a seventy-eight, but four 
strokes worse than a score gained by almost flaw- 
less golf. 

[ 162] 



VARDON — GREATEST GOLFER 

One example of his miraculous recoveries came at 
the tenth hole — a very difficult four. Taylor, hav- 
ing played the first nine badly, started his hole by 
being bunkered from the tee. He was not only 
bunkered but badly bunkered, lying fairly close to 
the wall of the trap. It was a matter of gossip 
among spectators as to whether he could get out 
well enough with his niblick to reach the green in 
three. Imagine their surprise then when he 
decided to use a spoon. And imagine their won- 
der when, by slicing the shot out with wonderful 
carrying power, he not only got out safely, but 
landed on the green and narrowly missed getting 
a three. 

Taylor's mighty determination, once he gets into a 
fighting mood, is surpassed by no man in the game — 
but when one is at times forced to keep up this end- 
less fighting he is at a big disadvantage playing 
against one like Vardon, who is working easily. This 
accounts for Taylor's downfall in the last round, when 
Vardon caught him and passed on to additional glory 

[163] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

— Taylor finally cracking under the heavy strain of 
making brilliant recoveries. 

BRAID OF THE IRON HEART 

Over a seventy-two-hole route I would back Var- 
don against any golfer that has ever lived. But 
if Vardon and Braid should tie, and the contest should 
be decided over an eighteen-hole battle, I would pick 
Braid. 

B raid isn't as steady as either Vardon or Taylor, but 
he is more spectacular than either. When pressed 
or driven into a corner, I believe he can make shots 
that no other could ever hope to make, for he has 
not only a wonderful nerve, but a wonderful physique 
that enables him to achieve the almost impossible. 

Braid to me as a golfer is the most interesting 
study of them all. I played a thirty-six hole match 
with him at his own course, Walton Heath, and had 
the opportunity to study him at close range. 

When Braid first swung into professional competi- 
tion, unlike Vardon and Taylor, he showed little 

[.6 4 ] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

prospect of championship form. He was a poor 

driver, a very short one from the tee, and a poor 

putter. But here the dogged determination and 

iron will of the man entered. He took a putter, and 

for weeks and months practised for hours at a time 

until he had mastered this weakness, trying out 

every possible scheme, studying each effect, until 
he had found the grip, stances, and general position 

that felt most natural and produced the best results. 

Then he began to practise driving — working, 
working, week in and week out, until one morning, 
to his own amazement, he found himself driving a 
longer ball than he had dreamed of, with forty yards 
added overnight. He says now that he hasn't any 
idea as to how this added distance came; but it was 
hard work that turned the trick. 

Off the tee Braid has a fuller swing than Vardon, 
a mighty swipe, without the body roll of Ted Ray, 
who is the longest driver in the world. 

In my match with Braid I had a good chance to 
see how brilliantly he could recover. I was playing 

[165] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

better that day than I expected to play, and the 
battle was all even. Coming to one long, hard 
hole Braid got a fairly short drive. It was hard to 
reach this green in two even with a good drive. 
There was a deep bunker just this side of the green, 
and I expected, of course, to see Braid play short 
and get on in three. In place of that, using a brassie, 
he took a mighty wallop, and not only reached the 
green but passed over it. After a long drive I barely 
reached the edge in two. We went to Braid's ball 
and found it in a deep rut back of the green, the 
hardest sort of shot to play on to a fast, downhill 
surface. Using a niblick and playing the shot firmly, 
but delicately, he not only got the ball out, but put 
enough spin to hold it within twelve feet of the cup. 
And then he ran down his putt for a four, and after 
having the hole apparently won easily, I had a hard 
fight on to get a half. 

But after all, you may ask, what is the one thing, 
the essential thing, the different thing, that lifts 

[ 166] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

these three golfers, especially Vardon, so far above 
the rest? Above such brilliant players as George 
Duncan and Ted Ray, above the best America has 
to offer? 

The answer is easy enough: there are fifty golfers 
who have brilliance; there are only three who have 
both brilliance and steadiness. They are geniuses 
— and they are pluggers. They travel at a fast 
clip, but nearly always at the same clip. There are 
many golfers who might beat Vardon in an eighteen- 
hole match. There is none living that could beat 
him the majority of fifty matches. 

At Brookline Ouimet tied with him over seventy- 
two holes and beat him at eighteen. But at Prest- 
wich Vardon finished first and Ouimet fifty-fifth. 
It isn't what we can do one day — many of us can 
play like marvels for a day — but what we can do 
every day. In England last season he played a re- 
markable long series of matches — fully a hundred 
(including championship and matches for big purses 
over championship courses). His average score for 

[i6 7 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

the entire summer was seventy-four — or almost exactly 
par golf. Braid was about seventy-five and Taylor 
about the same. But the main difference was that 
Braid and Taylor were often more brilliant — and 
often a good bit worse — while Vardon has held the 

even, steady way with less variation than any rival. 

Take his trip across America: with Ray as a 
partner, these two played in something like sixty 
matches. They lost just one. They travelled over 
a strange country to strange courses; they put in 
most of their time on sleepers, where their rest was 
broken; conditions were badly against them — and 
yet day in and day out Vardon held the same bril- 
liant, steady pace, breaking a course record one day, 
playing par golf the next, but always holding his 
game under perfect control. 

By that I mean that if you follow Vardon, Braid, 
and Taylor in a series of matches, you will notice one 
thing: it isn't so much the wonder shots of the game 
which make them great as their strict adherence to 
the simple but essential things. 

[i68] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

That is, you never catch one of them jerking his 
head up before hitting the ball. " Keep your eye 
on the ball " is a motto they follow to a finish. Some- 
times the rest of us do; sometimes we don't. 

" Don't press" is another slogan of the game, and a 
simple one. The one thing that will impress you 
about the game of these three is that they are always 
playing with a lot in reserve. Apparently they are 
never going the limit in any shot. 

There are a lot of good golfers who have perfect 
grips, perfect stances, and swing in the correct way. 
But at times under stress or strain they can't help 
looking up too soon, or swaying the body, or com- 
mitting some other fault. 

But they take care of the main and simpler in- 
gredients of the game — the part where the average 
golfer falls down. 

Most of the shots missed in golf are not missed 
through a wrong grip, or a bad stance, or from other 
causes that we deem so important and over which 
we spend so much time. Most of the shots missed 

[i6 9 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

by duffer and star alike are missed through breaking 
one of the few simple rules of the game: through mov- 
ing thehead or looking up, through pressing, or through 
swaying the body at the wrong part of the swing. 

In other words, most of these faults so commonly 
found are mental faults — not physical ones. They 
come from nervousness, overeagerness, lack of con- 
fidence, or some other condition of the mind. But 
these faults seem to be missing in Vardon' s make-up. 
He isn't nervous, he isn't overeager, but he has per- 
fect control of his mental faculties. If he didn't not 
even his wonderful skill would make him a champion. 
George Duncan is as brilliant as Vardon is. He can 
play just as many varieties of shots. He can play 
single rounds that no living man can beat. In one 
match, some time back, Vardon was going at a 
wonderful clip with a seventy-one and a seventy-two. 
Duncan, playing like a whirlwind, had a seventy and 
a sixty-nine. But Duncan hasn't the same control 
of his nerves. Therefore Duncan has yet to win 
a championship where Vardon has won six. So, 

[ 170] 



V A R D O N — G REATEST GOLFER 

beyond all Vardon's great skill, wonderful style, and 
the rest of his physical perfections, the fact remains 
that he has reached the height by obtaining almost 
perfect control of his mental equipment, enabling 
him to play each shot as it ought to be played in the 
heat of the fight. If he had retained this same con- 
trol of himself on the putting ground, and kept his 
putting up to the standard of his other play, he could 
have paralyzed all competition for the last fifteen 
years. As it is he has done well enough, and most of 
his success might be traced to a few simple rules: 

i . Control of temper. 

2. Refusing to worry over any bad lie or any hard luck. 

3. Playing easily within himself and never pressing. 

4. Playing always for the hole, even when two hundred 
yards away. 

5. Studying his game and practising at every oppor- 
tunity. 

6. Making a point, even in practice, to follow all sim- 
ple rules, such as keeping one's head still, looking at the 
ball, etc. 

[171] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

7. Keeping the body under control until perfect timing 
is developed. 

8. Using an easy, natural, upright swing that stays as 
long as possible in line with the intended flight of the ball. 



[ I7 2 l 



AYE, MON 

A man may drive like an Eddie Ray, 

Far and straight dawn the open way; 

A man may come to a masbie shot 

And push it up to the proper spot; 

By hill and dune with the festive spoon 

He may ramble on to the same old tune — 

He may shoot one up to the far green s brink — 

But what's the use when the putts won't sink ? 

A man may be on his driving game 

And smash them out to his soul's acclaim; 

With whirring cleek and the niblick's swipe 

His stuff be there and his form be ripe; 

He may have the eye for a jigger try 

And hold the line as a bird might fly; 

From tee to green he may reap the crop — 

But what's the use when his putts won't drop ? 

[173] 



VIII 

"BOY — BRING ME A NIBLICK!" 

HARRY VARDON and other experts say 
that American golf courses have been under- 
trapped and too sparsely bunkered — and 
that to improve our golf we must add extra hazards 
and put a further tax upon a poorly played shot. 

But what has the Tired Business Man to say about 
it? What is the inexpert opinion of the countless 
duffers who slice, hook, top, schlafT, foozle, and stutter 
their way around the course ? 

Even now in their dreams at night they see a 
mountain range to carry, an ocean to pitch over, and 
a fairway two feet wide flanked with bottomless 
grottoes inscribed with the Dantean legend: "All 
Hope Abandon — Ye Who Enter Here." 

They know as their driver starts toward the ball 

[■74] 



"BOY — BRING ME A NIBLICK!" 

what the next spoken line will be, once the male- 
dictions and the profanity are concluded. 

" Boy — bring me a niblick." 

A wasted command. The caddie had taken the 
niblick out immediately after handing over the driver. 
Habit brings on instinctive action. No great fore- 
thought is required. The caddie's action was purely 
subconscious, the result of constant repetition. 

And yet in place of emerging from the wilderness 
with the promised bunkerless land in sight, these, 
whom we might call the duffers of the game, are 
only on the threshold of their troubles. If what 
Harry Vardon, Donald Ross, and others have to say 
is correct, life for these hereafter will be just one 
bunker after another — an endless chain effect of 
earth thrown up and traps cut deeply. 

There is no pleasure for us in saying what we feel 
must be said to those who already spend three fourths 
of their golfing time hidden from sight below the 
earth's level, or blurred from view by some towering 
bunker, where only the whirr of the niblick is heard 

[175] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

— that and language that no man shall ever see in 
print. 

But "murder will out," as the saying is said to be. 
The news must be broken some time, so why not 
now — and here? 

THE OBJECT OF GOLF 

"The object of golf from now on," says Donald 
Ross, who has laid out seventy-three American 
courses, "will be toward an even greater science of 
stroke. Deep traps will be placed down the center, 
so that the golfer must shoot either to the right or 
left. To play well a man must have a wide variety 
of shots. More and more he will be forced to use 
his head as well as his hands and arms. More and 
more the golfer will have to have control over the 
club to insure direction or meet certain trouble." 

The edict has gone forth that golf has become too 
easy, and that decided changes must be made. 

Yet there are many golfers now like that visitor 
who plumped his tee shot into the trap guarding the 

[176] 




"BOY BRING ME A NIBLICK!" 



"BOY — BRING ME A NIBLICK!" 

eighteenth green at Garden City. With his trusty 
niblick in his hand he disappeared from view. There 
soon followed the muffled sound of much thudding of 
sand — the echo of a strong-lunged man using even 
stronger language — and then the boding hush of 
silence. Three minutes — four minutes — five minutes 
his opponent waited above. Finally he could stand 
the strain no longer. "Why don't you drop your 
club and throw the ball out?" he yelled down in 
disgust. 

"H 1," came the reply, with even more dis- 
gusted intonation — "that's what I've been trying 
to do for five minutes. What do you think I am — a 
Walsh or a Mathewson?" 

This brings us again to the Tired Business Man, 
held responsible for so many foolish plays. We 
interviewed a large number of those whose scores 
range from ioo to 174 for eighteen holes, and the 
general verdict about trapping golf courses seemed 
to be about this: 

"We go out for recreation and amusement — not 

[ 177] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

for a battle against all nature, riveted, bored, 
mounded, and hurled against us. We leave the office 
slightly tired and depressed, but jubilant in the 
thought of an afternoon outdoors. We reach the 
first tee buoyed up beyond measure, overrunning 
with joy. We come to the eighteenth tee a mass 
of shattered, wracked nerves, worn out in body 
and soul, with frayed tempers and our morals 
stunned. 

" We come out to sport upon the Rhine — and they 
send us over the Rubicon. We come out to joy ride 
through Romany — and they drive us deep into 
Rome. We come out to play golf — and they make 
us hewers of earth and splashers of water. We come 
out to play with seven clubs — and after one shot 
from the tee they force us to fall back upon one." 

THE PROBLEM OF THE GAME 

It's quite a problem. The logic of the above 
sounds irresistible. Yet the advanced theorists, 
plugging steadily ahead with deeper pits and loftier 

[178] 



"BOY — BRING ME A NIBLICK!' 

hazards, merely point to the continued boom of the 
game and to the fact that the harder each course is 
made the more men curse, but the more anxious they 
are to play it again. 

They can prove to you by statistics — by cold, 
clean facts — that the harder courses are the ones 
most eagerly sought by the greater number. 

And undoubtedly they are correct in their view- 
point. The duffer, playing a 92 upon an easy course, 
raves with the savage fury of a wild man when he 
returns 1 10 at Garden City or Baltusrol, or 120 at the 
National. 

He imagines that he will never play a course like 
this again, that he will quit the game first. But 
the next day, playing his own easy course, he suddenly 
misses the thrill which came from playing one shot 
correctly beyond such an avalanche of trouble, and at 
the first chance he returns again to tackle the problem, 
in an attempt to make a better showing. 

The average golfer, even the average high-handicap 
player, not only likes but takes pride in a well-trapped 

[ 179] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

championship course. If he belongs to an easy 
course he tells the name of his golf club in a most 
humble tone. But if he is a member of some club 
claiming a championship course — such as Baltusrol, 
Garden City, Myopia, or Brookline — though his best 
mark over that course be 117, still will his pride in 
belonging to that club be unusually keen. 

There are exceptions, of course. At the East Lake 
course in Atlanta, Georgia, a bunker was erected in 
front of a certain tee, calling for a carry of some 1 70 
yards. 

One of the club members, a short driver, had been 
playing golf for five years, when he came to this shot 
and promptly plunked the ball into the bunker's side. 
On four successive rounds he found this same trouble. 
The day after, in place of playing around as usual, he 
took two dozen balls, a caddie, and a driver, and went 
to this tee, working for two hours in a vain attempt to 
hit the ball over. For nearly a month he kept this 
up. And then one day, after an extended spray of 
sunshine had baked out the course, a half-topped shot 

[180] 



BOY — BRING ME A NIBLICK! 

with a supporting wind behind carried the ball on a 
bound over the bunker's side. 

" My life's ambition at golf," he said, "is satisfied. 
Now 1 am through/' and he has never swung a club 
since. 

TRAPPING NEEDED 

In football no offence of the right sort can be de- 
veloped unless it be trained against a strong defence. 
In baseball no club can be developed at bat unless it 
face high-class pitching. And in golf no first-class 
player can be developed unless he is given a chance to 
play over a course calling for control and a variety 
of shots. The golfer who plays over an untrapped 
course, where bad shots are rarely ever penalized, has 
a tendency to become careless — and to lose control. 
For control can only be developed where there is a 
penalty waiting for a misplay. 

Too many American courses are not properly 
bunkered for a tee shot. They fail to develop con- 
trol with the wood as a first-class course should do. 
And it is on this account that American golfers, in- 

[181] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

vading England, find so much trouble. They are un- 
accustomed to the high winds and the more extensive 
trapping, and lack the steady control to meet the 
occasion. 

And yet there is a limit: the Tired Business Man. 
The average golfer is willing to take a chance — to 
accept a penalty for a poorly played shot, he will tell 
you. It may be best for the game — for an improved 
game — to adorn the course with yearly added 
difficulties — but is it best for the nation's nerves, 
morals, and happiness? 

No wonder the Tired Business Man is so called. 
That is why he is tired. 

A nation's wealth, as judged by Adam Smith, is 
measured by its happiness. 

Can a nation be happy with so large a percentage 
of its population spending so large a percentage of its 
spare time in traps and bunkers? 

The violet-stained feet of young Spring come 
dancing across the green hills. The plains throw off 
winter's winding sheet of snow to ripple and wander 

[182] 



BOY — BRING ME A NIBLICK! 

away in the sunlight. There is new life in the land, 
and joy abounding everywhere. 

But above the singing birds, the wind song of the 
trees, the joyous rippling melody of the brooks, there 
sounds and sweeps a vast cataclysm of anguish that 
is poignant, and language that is horrible to hear. 
It comes from the depths of the earth — from the 
crests of many mounds — from hazards of water and 
swamps of grass. It comes with a snarl and a rasp of 
tone and a curse upon all living things. 

It comes from the soul of those in mortal agony — in 
death-dealing rage — and it comes in the wake of that 
last line of spoken despair: 

"Boy, bring me a niblick!" 



[183] 



THE GOLFER SPEAKS 

// / should die to-night, 

And as with folded arms in death I lay 
Some beaten rival whom I'd put to flight 

Should bend above my resting corpse and say: 
" Old boy, you won by greater skill and pluck, 

You had me trimmed from putting green to tee, 
You had the stuff but I had all the luck 

I should have been six down instead of three." 

If he said that, 

Although my soul was even then a spook 
I'd rise at once in my large, white cravat 

To get one look at him — one final look, 
I'd make him say it over word for word 

Till I was sure that I had rightly heard; 
Yes, I'd rise up within my shroud, and then — 

I'd drop back dead again. 

(With apologies to Ben King) 

[i8 4 ] 



BEATING 'EM TO IT 

Yes, pal, I know just how it was — you should have 
won a mile; 

You had him trimmed ten ways on form and twenty 
ways on style; 

You had him stewed into a trance — you had him strung 
until 

You went and blew a ten-inch putt where something 
tipped the pill; 

A putt you wouldn't miss again the whole blank sum- 
mer long — 

A pop-eyed pipe to anchor — am I right or am I wrong ? 

I get you, pal — don't say a word — he wasn't in your 

class; 
You had no less than twelve bad kicks that plunked 

you in the grass; 

[185] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

While you were straight upon the pin, he foozled every 

shot, 
But somehow skidded on the green and gathered in the 

pot; 
No, not a word; I know, old top — your case is nothing 

new — 
I know, because each time I lose they heat me that way, 

too. 



[186] 



M 



IX 

THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

R. WILLIAM JONES belongs to that type 
of citizenry who receives a fair salary — 
enough to live on with something on the 
side. But to reach this point he has worked a little 
bit harder and a little bit longer than he should have 
worked without mixing in some recreation. He finds 
at last that he must get this recreation, and after 
looking over the field he decides to take up golf, upon 
the advice of certain friends who lift the limit in 
recommending this game. 

So Jones goes in for the game, joins a club, secures 
a golfing outfit, and plays at least twice a week for 
about eight months out of the year. What has this 
year's golf cost him? Jones doesn't know. Neither 
does Smith. Neither does Brown. They only 

[187] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

know it was worth it in the way of added pleasure 
and of savings in doctors' bills and in the way of 
added energy applied to work. 

But for the benefit of Mr. Jones, average citizen 
and average golfer, we can tell him just about what 
it cost individually, and perhaps jar him a bit with 
the total annual golfing cost as applied to the United 
States alone. 

THE FIRST YEAR 

What does it cost to play golf? In the way of 
extremes, anything you want. You can enter, only 
you probably can't, the most exclusive club in the 
country for an initiation fee of $5,000. Or you can 
take up the game on a public course where the fee is 
nothing, or perhaps one dollar, and where no dues 
are required. 

Around the New York and Chicago districts, 
where over 180 clubs are represented, the average 
dues are $90 a year, with the average initiation fee at 
$ 1 00. But a fair average over the entire golfing 
realm would be considerably less, say about one half. 

[•88] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

We will say, then, that Jones takes up golf, enters 
a club, pays a $50 initiation fee, $50 annual dues, 
buys the needed seven clubs, and plays twice a week, 
Saturdays and Sundays, for eight months of the 
year. Being an average citizen, he will need the 
seven clubs for the average player — driver, brassie, 
cleek, mid-iron, mashie, niblick, and putter. These 
seven clubs at $2.50 each will cost him % 17.50. 
A great many golfers carry less, but a great 
many also carry more, adding a spoon and a 
jigger to the above list. So seven is a fair 
average. 

If he plays twice a week for eight months he will 
travel the course about 64 times, which will require 
on an average about three dozen golf balls, or one to 
every 36 holes. (Please remember that in all this 
we are taking up the average case.) So Jones must 
pay at least $20 for the number of balls he uses. His 
carfare will be at least $20; around the larger cities 
it will be much more, and around the smaller cities 
less, but this is the Average City. And to this must 

[189] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

be added a caddie charge of 40 cents a round, or 
about $25 for the season. 

So at the end of the first year Mr. William Jones, 
average citizen and average golfer, playing in the 
average town, can figure up his expenses as follows : 

Initiation fee . . . . . . . . $ 50.00 

Annual dues 50.00 

Balls 20.00 

Clubs *7-50 

Carfare 20.00 

Caddie pay 25.00 



Total $182.50 

This doesn't include money paid to the golf pro- 
fessional for instruction at one dollar an hour; golf 
toggery in the way of shoes, cap, and other details, 
nor does it include any part or parcel of expenditures 
around the Nineteenth Hole. It is merely a list of 
the necessary charges. After the first year the 
initiation fee is removed and the cost of clubs is 

[ 190] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

reduced, bringing the actual cost down to an average 
of $120 a year, or about two dollars for each round 
played through a season of eight months. There will 
be thousands who will spend three or four times this 
amount; and there will be other thousands who will 
spend less. But for a general average these figures 
will not be very far away. 

HIGH INTO THE MILLIONS 

The average cost of $120 doesn't seem very large. 
It isn't, when considered alone. But when this cost 
is multiplied by all those playing golf in the United 
States, it is then that one suddenly wakes to the 
enormous amount of money spent upon the game — 
far more than is spent upon any other sport in the 
nation. 

This may sound like a joke to a good many. More 
money spent on golf than upon baseball, with all 
these high-priced players and all these big stadiums? 
Yes, a good bit more. And we believe we can show 
it to the satisfaction of all. 

[ 191 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

As far as the listed number of organizations is 
concerned, there are 1,300 golf clubs now in the 
United States. There are many others not listed in 
this report, and there are certainly a great many 
more being constructed, for each season finds a 
large number of additions. These 1 ,300 clubs have a 
playing, or rather an active playing, list of 350,000 
members. There is no way of telling just how many 
dabble at golf occasionally, but there are certainly 
several hundred thousand more. Some expert sta- 
tisticians have figured that at least a million people 
are now playing golf in the United States; but this 
seems to be a trifle high. As an estimate, 350,000 
active players isn't far wrong, for each club will 
average 250. Many clubs run up to 800 and 1,000 
members, and few fall below 200, so 250 to the club 
is certainly a low estimate. 

ALMOST A WAR FUND 

Figured then on the basis of 350,000 active golfers, 
at the average cost summed up of $120 a year, the 

[ 192] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

total amount spent on golf each season runs up to 
$42,000,000, and this exclusive of the $ 17, 500,000 
paid in for initiation fees! 

This seems to be an incredible amount of money to 
be paid out for one sport, one among many others, but 
if anything we have underestimated the average cost, 
as the average golfer will understand and bear us out. 
And if to this is added the amount paid for shoes, 
golf toggery, and the purchased buoyancy of the Nine- 
teenth Hole, the sum total easily exceeds $50,000,000 
each year. 

Of this amount the largest individual item is in 
dues, which amount to something like $17,500,000 
annually. 

WHERE IT GOES 

Where does all this money go? That part, too, is 
easily enough answered. With 1,300 clubs listed, 
each club will average 100 acres. Very few are 
under this and a great many have much more space. 
This means at least 1 30,000 acres devoted to the art 
of losing golf balls. 

[ 193] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

These 1 30,000 acres are with few exceptions close 
to some town or large city and are all the center of 
popular residence neighbourhoods. The moment a 
section of land is staked off for a golf course, adjoining 
lots all take on greatly increased value. For the 100 
acres necessary for the golf club, of course, widely 
different prices are charged, but it is safe to say that 
the average acre on a golf course is worth $600. This 
means a matter of $78,000,000 worth of real estate 
tied up in golf, and another $20,000,000 tied up in 
clubhouses. 

The purchase of golf territory and the enormous 
amounts of money required to fix up and keep a 
course in repair take most of the annual fund spent 
upon the game. For example, two good courses in 
the east are Nassau and Englewood. The land on 
one cost $175,000 and on the other $165,000. Add to 
this the $50,000 or $60,000 necessary to lay out and 
build up a course, and then follows the $10,000 a year 
needed to keep the fairway and putting greens in 
good condition for play, and it is easy enough to see 

[ 194] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

where the money goes. Many millions are spent 
each year in the upkeep of the i ,300 courses. 

A SEVENTY-TWO-THOUSAND-DOLLAR GREEN 

There may be more expensive putting greens some- 
where around the golfing landscape, but certainly one 
of the most expensive is that of the third hole at the 
Crescent Athletic Club course. This hole overlooks 
the bay and is situated high upon the Shore Drive, 
Long Island. It is less than 100 feet square, and yet 
$72,000 has been offered for it. So golfers who top 
their approaches to this green miss a very rich land- 
ing-place. 

Another pair of expensive holes laid out are at the 
Brookline Country Club, Boston, Massachusetts, 
where Ouimet won the American Open Champion- 
ship two years ago. These are the ninth and tenth 
holes, and for good parts of the way they were cut 
from solid rock, to permit an opening from tee to 
green. It is figured that with all the work required, 
necessitating an unusual amount of blasting, the two 

[ 195] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

holes cost at least $50,000. So those who imagine 
that golf holes are made by merely sinking a tin cup 
in some fairly smooth place have another guess com- 
ing. 

FOR THE PROFESSIONALS 

The successful laying out of a golf course requires 
the work of an expert, one who understands how to 
develop the widest range of shots, and when his map 
is finished the work of getting this course into shape 
takes a big force of men and at least two or three 
years before the grass is of the desired carpetlike 
quality. And one can figure upon at least $7,800,000 
a year needed to keep these courses in shape. 

Another large item of golfing expenditure is 
brought in by the different professionals in charge. 
Each club has at least one professional, who has 
various duties, the two main assignments being to 
conduct a shop where clubs and balls are sold and to 
furnish instruction to such members as may desire to 
advance further or to get back upon their game. 

Each professional will average at least $100 a 

[196] 




A SLICE THAT WON A CHAMPIONSHIP 

"By some strange freak Hilton's ball 
struck a projection from the side of the rock 
and caromed off upon the green for a sure 
four in place of an almost sure six " 



A 4OO-YAKU HOLE IN TWO! 

The diagram shows a 160-yard "hole 
out " with a mid-iron which Gil Nicholls 
made. A shout from the green told him he 
had made a 400-yard hole in two 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

month, or $1,200 a year, which means a salary out- 
lay of $1,300,000. It seems almost impossible to 
mention any golf expense account without going into 
the millions. In addition to this fixed salary, the 
professional gets what profit he can obtain from the 
sale of balls and golf clubs, and is also paid at a rate 
of one dollar an hour for instruction. Many pro- 
fessionals enjoy fine incomes from these combined 
sources, and for instruction alone it is probable that 
$750,000 is paid out annually by those who desire a 
slice removed and a pull inserted, or who would like 
to play an occasional mashie shot within thirty or 
forty yards of the pin. 

There is no better way to get back upon one's 
game or to develop a game than by this method, and 
this fact is becoming recognized to such an extent 
that most of our pros, are kept very busy teaching 
from morning to night, and many of them are able to 
make as high as $4,000 or $5,000 a year. 

This pressure of instruction is undoubtedly cutting 
into the tournament success of many of our best 

[ 197] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

players. Many of them have little or no time at all 
for practice. They are kept busy giving lessons 
from 8 a. m, until 6 p. m., and get in only an oc- 
casional round. Most of these get nothing like the 
play and practice obtained by a great many of our 
leading amateurs, which accounts to a certain extent 
for the small tournament margin between the pro. 
and the amateur of late. 

On the other hand, Vardon, the British champion, 
rarely ever gives instruction, plays in tournaments 
constantly, and so is, of course, far better able to give 
a good account of himself in any championship en- 
gagement. 

CONCERNING FEES AND DUES 

Earlier in this article we set the average for 
initiation fees at $50. This estimate is probably too 
low. Very few clubs have an entrance fee below $50, 
whereas any number range not only far beyond $50, 
but to financial altitudes almost unbelievable. 

Out in St. Louis there is a golf club known as the 

[198] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

Log Cabin, where the membership list is limited to 
twenty-five. And to get in, the new member must 
produce $5,000, in return for which he is of course 
given bonds of the club. But the $5,000 is regarded 
as an entrance or initiation fee. 

Chicago has a new- club, the Old Elm, where the 
fee for entering as a member is $1,500. There are 
other clubs in St. Louis, Chicago, New York, and 
Philadelphia where a fee of $400 is required. But 
around New York most clubs charge $100 for a fee, 
and place their dues at from $75 to $90 a year. In 
smaller cities the average fee is $40 or $50, with dues 
about the same. 

There is probably no club in the country that 
gives as much for its money as the Atlanta Athletic 
Club, which harbours the best golf course in the 
South, and where golf is the main feature. This club 
charges only $50 a year for dues. And for this 
money the members get a championship golf course, 
a long line of tennis courts, a lake for boating, a rifle 
range, and in addition a downtown house where a big 

[ 199 1 



THE WINNING SHOT 

gymnasium is provided, and where all indoor games 
are well looked after and excellent reading-rooms are 
established. 

The membership here is i ,000, with a long waiting 
list attached. 

COST OF CLUBS 

Another important item is the money spent in golf 
clubs. These clubs cost from $2.50 to $3.50 each. 
Their shafts are of seasoned hickory and cost the 
professionals at wholesale rates 40 cents each. This, 
with the wooden or iron heads and the leather grip 
required, runs the actual cost of making them well up 
above a dollar. 

These shafts are hard to get, for many of them are 
too whippy, and are not able to stand the terrific 
strain under which they are used. Only the best 
wood can last for any length of time. On an average, 
each golfer will use seven clubs. There are many 
who will use only five; but there are more who con- 
tinue adding clubs to their stock, until any number 

[ 200 ] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

have from ten to twenty clubs in their locker before 
they are able to get just the clubs they want. 

With an average of seven clubs for 350,000 golfers, 
at $2.50 to the club, we have an outlay of $6,125,000 
spent for clubs. Each year a club or two is added, 
and if only one club was purchased each season after 
the original investment, we would have an annual 
expenditure of $875,000 in this department of the 
game alone. 

It is no easy matter for one to secure just the set of 
clubs one wants. After a few weeks' or a few months' 
play with any set, a golfer takes strong likes and 
equally strong dislikes to clubs. If he has a club 
that he believes doesn't suit him and in which he has 
no confidence, although it isn't the club's fault, he 
might as well start to looking around for another to 
take its place. He will never be satisfied until he 
does. There are many golfers who carry from ten to 
fifteen clubs. There is one star who carries at least 
twenty, and few caddies make any extended effort to 
get his bag. 

[201 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

It is just as well for one to have a driver, brassie, 
spoofi, cleek or driving iron, mid-iron, jigger, mashie, 
niblick, and putter, a total of nine clubs. 

Many carry a mashie-niblick and a heavy niblick 
as well, which would bring the list to ten, and which 
would incur starting expenditures of $22.50 for clubs 
alone. 

Leading professionals in tournament play always 
go armed for any emergency that might arrive. In 
a big match played in England, James Braid, five 
times Open Champion, put his second shot into a 
deep trap right up against the wall. The green, a 
fast, sloping one, began at the edge of the trap. 
It was necessary that Braid get out, and yet equally 
important that he should not get too far. So in place 
of using his regular niblick he reached in his bag for 
a club that looked more like a shovel than anything 
else. This club had a big, round, heavy, iron head, 
and with it Braid struck a mighty blow at least 
four inches back of the ball, with the result that it 
popped out of the sand, just cleared the wall, and 

[ 202 ] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

lay within two feet of the hole. So at times freak 
clubs are required for freak shots. 

Chick Evans, the crack Chicago golfer, at one 
time carried four putters around with him, which 
was a bad idea, as it destroyed confidence in any one 
putter, and left him uncertain at each putt. 

But the idea must not be got from this that every- 
thing in golf and about golf is overexpensive. Pub- 
lic courses offer those who love the game and lack 
the price a chance to play for almost nothing. There 
are golfers on public courses who have kept track of 
all expenditures, and have found that they were 
able to play a full season on less than twenty dollars, 
and this included carfare. These are the golfers 
who show the grip of the game upon all who take it. 

FOR LOVE OF THE GAME 

Here is an example of what many of these go up 
against to get in their favourite diversion: 

A certain golfer in New York one day decided to 
play on Sunday at the public course at Van Cortlandt 

[203] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Park. He had never tried it before, although he un- 
derstood that a good many had the same Sunday 
scheme. On this particular Sunday he decided to get 
out early, and so get well ahead of the field, in order 
to get around quickly and so get in two full rounds 
before noon. To make things doubly sure he decided 
to get out by five o'clock in the morning. He arrived 
at 5 a. m., but he didn't lead the field that day. 

To his great surprise he found something over 
ninety golfers ahead of him, all ready to start, and 
some of these had been on hand for well over an 
hour, or before four o'clock. A man must love a 
game who, after a hard week's work, is willing to get 
up at 3 a. m. on his rest day and wait several hours 
to get started at his game, waiting for daylight and for 
the line to melt until his turn came to step up and place 
the small white ball upon its resting-place of sand. 

ON PUBLIC COURSES 

There are no golf courses within the New York, 
or what is known as the Metropolitan, District. 

[204] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

These can take care of 50,000 golfers with ease. 
One would think all these courses would take up 
all the golfing talent to be found in one city. But 
at Van Cortlandt Park this last summer a fee of one 
dollar was charged for the privilege of playing on the 
course, and 6,600 golfers applied for the necessary 
permission. If a golfer attempted to start at this 
course by arriving at eight o'clock Sunday morning, 
it would be well on into the afternoon before his 
turn would come. 

There is as much, or more, interest at the Jackson 
Park course in Chicago, where it has been figured 
up that over 500,000 rounds were played last year. 
This widespread interest in golf has started an 
upbuilding of public courses in many other cities. 
For golf, in private clubs, is still too expensive in 
America. Over in England and Scotland some of 
the greatest courses are public courses, and it is 
possible there for workmen making low wages to 
enjoy a round of golf at least twice a week over a 
very fine course. 

[205] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

America as yet has nothing like this. Its public 
courses are still far too few, and not up to the stan- 
dard that develops the best golf. But this condi- 
tion is improving as public officials are beginning 
to realize the growing love for the game among the 
public at large. 

PAY OF CADDIES 

The money made by caddies out of golf is one of 
the most interesting features of the game. These 
boys range from youngsters only ten years old to 
others who are from eighteen to twenty. Through 
the week only about ten or fifteen of these are kept 
busy to each course, but on Saturdays and Sundays — 
especially on Saturdays and holidays, as many clubs 
have refused to let caddies .work on Sunday — there 
must be fully 100,000 boys earning from fifty cents 
to a dollar for their one or two rounds. During the 
playing season, especially the spring and fall seasons, 
golfers throughout the United States must pay out 
at least $60,000 a week in caddie fees, which is no 

[ 206 ] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

small item for young boys, who, however, earn every 
cent they make, despite many complaints they re- 
ceive. 

No, the caddie isn't overpaid. He is out in the 
open, leading a healthy life; but the golfer is inclined 
at times to be selfish and thoughtless, and boys are 
blamed for the loss of golf balls that an Argus couldn't 
follow or find, not if he had two hundred eyes. 
Golfers should be much more careful than they are 
in their general behaviour, meaning both deed and 
word, in the presence of their caddies who, being 
much younger, are so much more easily influenced. 

It is hard to say just how much is paid out for 
caddie fees in the course of an entire season, but it 
wouldn't be far wrong to say this annual bill is at 
least $3,000,000. And $3,000,000 is not an incon- 
siderable amount for even the youth of America to 
earn in the course of a year. 

These statistics have been made up after a careful 
study of the situation and after obtaining all records 
available. They show what a tremendous industry 

[207] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

the ancient Scottish game has grown to be in a coun- 
try where twenty years ago it was almost unknown, 
with very few devotees. 

Ten years ago in the United States golf was only 
getting a good start. And yet here to-day we have 
$100,000,000 invested in the game through real 
estate, clubhouses, and general improvements; we are 
spending as a nation $50,000,000 a year upon its 
pursuit; we are furnishing pleasure to over 350,000 
players, and employment, including men and boys, 
to over 300,000 people. 

In addition to that we have given up 130,000 
acres of our most valuable soil to this game, which 
has grown with such amazing rapidity that it has 
been hard to keep pace in the way of course build- 
ing, as any number of clubs have already passed their 
limits and have waiting lists of formidable sizes on 
hand. And yet, in the face of all this, there are 
those who are inclined to doubt the wonderful grip 
this game has upon the nation, a nation that within 
the next ten years will double its golfing contingent 

[208] 



THE HIGH COST OF GOLFING 

and will spend close to $100,000,000 a year in keeping 
up the game. It takes something of a game, some- 
thing beyond a mere fad, to reach such proportions. 
In fact, it takes golf. 



[209] 



THE GOLF WIDOW SPEAKS 

You have kicked in with a serum for the Great White 

Plague; 
You have uppercut the Typhus on the jaw; 
You have copped an ancesthetic 
To relieve the diphtheretic, 
And the rest of it you've cut out with a saw. 
But tell me, gentle doctors, ere the mortal coil is off, 
Is there nothing you've discovered in the medicated 

trough 
That may curb the raging fever of this game called 

"ioff?" 

You have cantered into Gangrene with a knock-out 

punch; 
You have hammered Scarlet Fever to the ropes; 
You have even found the answer 
To a mild degree of Cancer, 

[210] 



THE GOLF WIDOW SPEAKS 

And you've killed the drug enticement of the dopes. 
But tell me, learned doctors, is there nothing you can do 
For hydrophobic horrors in the heads of husbands who 
Can only rave of Stymies and a Perfect FollowThrough ? 



[211] 



X 

WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO GOLF 

THE female of the species may or may not be 
deadlier than the male. We have no inten- 
tion of debating this unhappy question with 
Mr. Kipling. But, in the matter of tournament golf 
play, the female temperament is not only far less 
deadly than the male, but far less unbending, rigid — 
and boring. It may not be quite so effective in 
regard to general results, but in the way of elasticity, 
buoyancy, and fun, there can be no comparison. 

Some time ago Miss Muriel Dodd and Miss 
Gladys Ravenscroft, two very eminent English 
golfers, had just finished a one-day tournament at 
Englewood, N. J., in which, possibly, seventy-five 
women had taken part. I had followed, that after- 
noon, the leading entries, who included, in addition 

[212] 



WHEN WOMAN STOOPS TO GOLF 

to Miss Dodd and Miss Ravenscroft, Miss Marion 
Hollins of New York. 

On the way back to the clubhouse I was vaguely 
conscious of a wide difference between the general 
atmosphere of that tournament and of tournaments 
conducted by the sterner sex. There was, I knew, 
quite a difference, but I was not sure what the dif- 
ference was until two ladies, just in front of me, 
solved the problem for me. 

"Now this/' said one of them, "is what I call real 
sport. Tournaments handled by men have always 
left me with an awful headache. They made me 
feel as if I didn't dare to breathe. They were so 
idiotically solemn about it themselves that I felt I 
was at a funeral. But to-day everything was so 
different. When Miss Dodd missed a shot, she 
laughed, and the same with Miss Ravenscroft and 
Miss Hollins. And we all laughed with them. The 
players had a good time and so did the spectators. 
It was sport — not war/' 

The facts had been most correctly stated. Among 

[213] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

the women who played at Englewood that day, 
especially among the best of them, there had been 
a total absence of that morose masculine stolidity 
which characterizes all of our male-conducted 
tournaments. Both from experience and from close 
observation I can say that men get very little real 
enjoyment out of tournament golf. They may 
quarrel with this statement, but the truth of it is 
undeniable. 

When men play in a qualifying round, the spec- 
tacle is not only impressive, but dreary. A topped 
mashie shot into a bunker brings to the player an 
anguish beyond all words. A sliced drive means 
intense suffering, while a sliced putt, close to the 
hole, pierces the poor man's heart with the poisoned 
arrow of a woe that may not be assuaged. When 
men play in tournaments they move from tee to 
tee and from green to green with the gravity that 
one might feel in marching out to bury the body of 
a friend. 

The sky may be blue, the earth may be green, and 

[214] 



WHEN WOMAN STOOPS TO GOLF 

the surrounding hills may be white or crimson, but 
their strained vision looks only ahead — to the ball 
and to the flag in the distance beyond. Of friendly 
conversation there is little or none. They are at 
heart much like the two Scotchmen, one of whom at 
the sixteenth hole finally said " Dom," as he missed a 
putt, only to be berated by his partner for being a 
chatterbox. 

Now, I don't mean to say that women esteem it 
an abiding bliss to top a mashie into a bunker, or to 
miss a short putt, but if one of these unhappy events 
should take place, it is not nearly so tragic a circum- 
stance as when it takes place with a man. And if 
any annoyance is shown or felt by women, it is 
quickly dispelled by a laugh or by some good-natured 
comment. 

That day at Englewood, when Miss Ravenscroft 
or Miss Dodd or Miss Hollins had driven from the 
tee, they were off down the course, laughing and 
chatting together as if they were solely bent on being 
happy, and not on winning a silver mug. 

[215] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

" Well," you might reply in rebuttal, " their game 
shows the effect of introducing such a dangerous 
element as fun into tournament play/' 

Quite so, and yet that afternoon, with a strong 
wind scurrying across the course and conditions 
against good medal play, Miss Ravenscroft returned 
an 8 1 on her first round trip. Her mind had been 
sufficiently upon the game to reach the sixth hole, 
530 yards long, in two shots with a very favouring 
wind; a result that should satisfy the mental concen- 
tration of any masculine player in the land. 

That tournament was not the only exhibition of 
the feminine golfing temperament which I have in 
mind. 

Shortly before the Englewood match, the Woman's 
Golf Championship of the United States had been 
staged at Wilmington, Delaware. 

Miss Dodd and Miss Ravenscroft were entered, 
and it was almost certain that one of the two visitors 
would win. They finally came together for a great 
test match. Under the same conditions, two men, 

[216] 



WHEN WOMAN STOOPS TO GOLF 

on the night before, would have been keyed up to a 
high nervous pitch, sleepless perhaps, and certainly 
under a heavy mental strain. Here was a cham- 
pionship at stake for which two young ladies had 
travelled 3,000 miles. Let us see how impressive the 
occasion was to them. Well, on the night before 
the tournament, they went to a dance, stayed there 
until three o'clock, and took the first tee on the next 
morning as if they were only off for a good tramp 
together. Miss Dodd played very badly and was 
soundly beaten, but, in so far as any dispiriting effect 
upon her could be discerned, she was having the 
time of her young life. When she topped a drive 
she almost invariably laughed, complimented her 
rival on a good shot, and then the two together went 
arm in arm down the course with the loser in as good 
a humour as the winner. 

When the match was over the loser was effusive in 
her congratulations, and if she was insincere her 
form was as remarkable as an actress as it was as a 
golfer, and — according to no less an authority than 

[217] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Harry Vardon — her golfing form is not surpassed 
by the best man player alive. She had only recently 
won the Woman's Championship of Great Britain, 
so it was not a case of her submitting to an expected 
defeat. 

It is not my purpose here entirely to indorse the 
feminine attitude as exemplified in the instances 
mentioned above, but if the average masculine golfer 
could come a trifle closer to that attitude he would 
not only have a much better time, but, in my humble 
opinion, play a better game. The strain on him 
would not be so heavy. There would be a greater 
absence of that rigidity of swing which comes from 
overtaut nerves. 

To take his play just a bit less seriously would 
bring a needed relaxation of muscle, and it is the 
absence of any such relaxation which accounts, in 
the main, for the high scoring in so many medal- 
play rounds. Golfers, easily capable of doing an 
8 1 or an 82 in friendly rounds, return cards of 90 
or 91 in tournaments, curse their luck, and wonder 

[218] 



WHEN WOMAN STOOPS TO GOLF 

why it is that they fell down so badly. The answer 
is, obviously, that they were getting their 8i's and 
82's when they were playing golf in easy-going rounds, 
in rounds, that is, when they were playing in much 
the same spirit as that shown by Miss Dodd and 
Miss Ravenscroft at Wilmington and Englewood. 

But regardless of the matter of scores, think of the 
fun the men are missing! After all, isn't it better 
to be able to laugh, or at least to smile, over a missed 
bit of luck, than to mutter morose and meaningless 
profanities because an approach that stopped twenty 
feet beyond the pin didn't have the ordinary decency 
to hit it and stop dead to the hole? 



[219] 



THE DUFFER'S DREAM 

WITH ANY NECESSARY APOLOGIES 

One night a Duffer dreamed that he had died 
And that his wretched, bally soul had skied 
To Heaven s gate, where, finding it was locked, 
He clamoured "Fore" and hammered, rapped, and 
knocked. 



"Who comes" St. Peter cried, "with all that din? 
"A Duffer," cried the soul, "please let me in." 
"And what is that," he heard the good saint say, 
" That you should hear the golden harps at play, 
What have you done upon that earth so drear 
That you should mingle with the angels here? 
Put me adjacent to a Duffer s fate" — 
And this reply came drifting through the Gate — 

[ 220 ] 



THE DUFFER S DREAM 

"A Duffer's fate? I pray you bend an ear 

And be prepared, Saint, to shed a tear; 

For thirteen years the ancient green I baffed, 

Sliced, hooked, and foozled, topped and smeared and 

schlaffed, 
Spending my days in bunkers, traps, and worse 
Dividing time between a sob and curse; 
Losing each time I struck a swinging blow 
A new white ball at sixty cents a throw, 
Until a wreck, with tangled nerves awry, 
I had naught left except an alibi. 



"A Duffer s fate? To work your soul apart 
And then get worse each time you make a start; 
To be ashamed at any time or place 
To look your anguished caddie in the face; 
To know your friends, each time that you alight, 
Are diving swiftly from your anxious sight; 
To get an 'eight,' a 'seven,' and a 'ten* 
A 'nine,' a 'six,' and then an 'eight' again; 

[221 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

To flub your drive and take three putts or more, 
While those behind are loudly yelling 'Fore' — 
To know each year the selfsame bitter lot — 
You have the facts — do I get in, or not?" 

"Here is the key" St. Peter said. "Come through- 
Heaven, I think, was built for such as you; 
Choose any harp among these scenes of mirth — 
blighted soul, you had your Hell on earth" 



[ 222 ] 



RARE SPECIES 

I've met a beggar in the street who scorned my proffered 

I've come upon a worn-out tramp who would not take a 

lift; 

I've met a fighter who exclaimed amid the roaring din : 
" I fell before a better bloke without a chance to win" ; 
I've met a guy who never heard of Teddy or of Ty — 
Who never heard of Johnson s speed or Baker's batting 

eye; 
But though I've been around the world and lamped 

within my scope 
A million weird varieties beyond the purling dope, 
Including scribes who spurned all cash and merely 

wrote for fame, 
In all my life I've never met a golfer "on his game." 

[223] 



XI 

GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

OUR duffer friend, William Smith, decides to 
enter an invitation golf tournament, of 
which many dozens are held all over the 
country from April to January. 

Smith knows that his best game is not likely to 
beat an 87 or 88, and that his average game is 
about 93 to 95. But he figures to himself that with 
a 92 or 93 he can easily get into the third or fourth 
"sixteen/' and perhaps have a chance to win in one 
of those lower divisions. 

When his starting time arrives he walks up to the 
first tee, takes a practice swing, and then, as he 
addresses the ball, suddenly finds that his nervous 
system is paralyzed. There is probably a gallery 
looking on (galleries generally gather around the first 

[224] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

tee to see the start), and poor Smith feels immediately 
that every eye is watching every move of his swing. 
He is so anxious to get away a good shot that he lifts 
his head, tops or smears the drive, and then looks 
around longingly for some hole to dive into and hide. 
The disgrace is keen — in his own imagination. He 
has lost his nerve, has shown that he was a quitter by 
blowing up on the first shot. 

Or perhaps he gets away a good drive, marches 
on jauntily after the ball with head up and cheerful 
heart, reaches the green on his next shot, and then, 
after laying an approach putt up within two feet, 
misses. The chances are that he will continue 
missing these putts right along thereafter, if this is 
his first tournament, for all confidence will then have 
been destroyed. 

For Mr. Smith, duffer, we have a few words of 
comfort to impart. We may give him a chance to 
cheer up a bit, and to lose some of his depression over 
an apparent lack of nerve under fire. To explain our 
point we will shift the scene. 

[225 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
WHEN THE STRAIN HIT A CHAMPION 

We will shift the scene to Sunningdale, England, 
near the city of London. The tournament under 
way is for the St. George's Vase, one of the biggest 
tournaments of the year. Out from London and 
suburbs a crowd of at least seven thousand golf 
followers have come to follow two great stars. One 
of these stars is Harold Hilton, then British Amateur 
Champion. The other is Francis Ouimet, then 
American Open Champion. 

Ouimet had already proved himself to be one of the 
golfing phenomena of the game. He had gone out 
against Vardon and Ray at Brookline before, and 
with the finest nerve I have ever seen had beaten 
them for the American title. Here, at last, every one 
said, is the golfer of iron nerve, the golfer who doesn't 
know what nervousness means. For had he not 
played Vardon and Ray off their feet without show- 
ing a quiver, without a break in his play from first to 
last? 

[ 226 ] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 
But the scene is now at Sunningdale. With seven 
thousand looking on, Ouimet stepped up to the tee. 
The crowd was preparing to look far down the course 
to see one of those 250-yard shots leave a white streak 
against the sky. Ouimet swung at the ball, lifted 
his head, struck with the heel of his club, and spun off 
a shot, half-topped, through a portion of the crowd. 
It was almost a clean miss. Why? Well, Ouimet 
said, shortly after the match, that he was so nervous 
that he could hardly hold a club in his hand. And 
yet Ouimet, I know, has as fine a golfing nerve and as 
fine a temperament for play as any golfer in the game. 

ANOTHER NERVE SHOCK 

For the benefit of Mr. Smith, duffer, who deplores 
his lack of nerve control, I might shift the scene again. 
The leading actor on this occasion is myself. It 
was the night before the British Amateur Champion- 
ship at Sandwich. I had gone over two months 
before to make ample preparation for this big inter- 
national event. I had been playing the best golf of 

[227] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

my life. I had at least nine years' tournament ex- 
perience behind me, and I had played in a British 
championship before. After dinner I retired fairly 
early to get a good night's sleep for the big test next 
day, when I was to play my first match. Eleven 
o'clock came, but no sleep. Twelve o'clock, and I 
I was still awake. At one o'clock my eyes were wide 
open and every nerve in my body jumping sideways. 
At seven o'clock the next morning I got up without 
having closed my eyes. This is offered in no sense as 
any alibi. It is merely a statement of fact. The 
long siege of preparation, the knowledge of the im- 
portance of the occasion, combined with outside 
worries, had torn into my nervous system with a 
crash that might have been made by the shell of a 

sixteen-inch gun. 

I was a beaten man before I walked to the tee, and 
beaten that early for the first time in my life. On 
the Sunday before I had played Sandwich in seventy- 
four strokes, my last preliminary round. That 
day, Palmer, the Irish champion, returned an 88, 

[228] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

fourteen strokes worse than I had played twenty-four 
hours before — and yet this was enough to beat by the 
margin of two. For I had a 90, by all odds the worse 
round of golf I had played since leaving American 
soil two months before. And yet, before that I had 
always been able to play my best golf under fire. 

ENCOURAGEMENT FOR THE DUFFER 

These two examples are offered as a starter by way 
of encouragement to Mr. Smith, duffer at large. For 
I can tell him truthfully that no golfer ever lived 
who was not harassed at one time or another by a 
nervous upset that wrecked his game. It is simple 
enough to call a man a quitter. But that expression 
would never be used if it had to come from a man 
who had never lost his nerve or control of his nerves 
in his life. 

There are no exceptions to this statement. And 
by all odds the most interesting study of golf is the 
study of golf nerves and golf temperament as applied 
to individual cases. 

[229] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

In the first place, just what is golf temperament? 
Is it power of concentration? Is it mainly a lack of 
nerves, or a control of nerves, or possession of nerve? 
I have seen some of the nerviest men I have ever 
known miss short putts in tight matches through 
sheer nervousness. But there must be some in- 
gredient here that decides the battle where two golfers 
of equal skill meet, and one is always the winner 
through a greater steadiness against the test. The 
best temperament has been called the " wooden tem- 
perament/' which means lack of nerves. This may 
be true, but who is possessor of this so-called "wooden 
temperament/' save at rare intervals? In my own 
case I am supposed to have very few nerves at work, 
to have nothing but ice in my veins when at play. On 
the contrary, I am often highly nervous and have 
made some of my best shots when my nerves seemed 
to be jumping sideways. That day against Palmer I 
couldn't have made a three-foot putt if the hole had 
been twice as large. Yet in other tournaments I 
have gone in feeling nervous and have managed to 

[230] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

keep myself well in check, which means that I man- 
aged to keep my eye on the ball and to keep con- 
trol of my timing. 

HOW TRAVIS WORKS IT 

The same is supposed to be true of Walter J. 
Travis. It is the general opinion that he hasn't a 
nerve in his body, that nothing upsets him. He has 
played in more tournaments than any other golfer in 
America, but for all that Travis is full of nerves. It 
is only by wonderful powers of concentration that he 
keeps these nerves in check. And he turns the trick 
in this fashion: 

In playing a friendly match, with absolutely 
nothing at stake, Travis plays as grimly as if the 
championship of the world depended upon each shot. 
He schools himself to concentration day after day and 
year after year, and so, when he enters a tournament, 
he is trained in nerve control. But there are oc- 
casions recorded when his nerves, even under all 
this schooling, broke away from his grip and left him 

[231 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

as helpless against the test as others known to be 
nervous. 

A QUADRANGULAR NERVE TEST 

One of the most striking quadrangular cases of 

nerve tests or temperament tests, might be shown in 

the rivalries of four great English golfers — Hilton, 

Harris, Ball, and the late Freddie Tait. Harris is a 

great golfer, yet he could never play his best against 

Hilton, who beat him repeatedly. Hilton is one of 

the greatest of all amateurs, yet he always found both 

Tait and Ball almost impossible to beat. Tait could 

beat Hilton but he could rarely beat Ball. When 

Hilton went against Harris he played with supreme 

confidence, expecting to win, and always won. 

When he played against Ball, although a much 

better player than Ball is or was, he generally came 

in beaten. Why? He could never explain it. He 

only felt that he could beat one and that he couldn't 

beat the other. 
To my mind, if there was ever a man in golf 

possessed of so-called iron nerve, or lack of nerves, 

[232] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

it was John Ball, eight times Amateur Champion of 
Great Britain. He was as stolid as a rock at all 
times. Apparently a tournament meant nothing to 
him. It has been recorded how, on one occasion, just 
before a final round for the British Championship was 
to be started, he was found working in his garden, 
with no thought of golf in his head, and he only 
came away to play his match with great reluctance. 
Yet I saw even the iron-hearted Ball show the 
effect of a nervous upset. In the British Champion- 
ship at Sandwich he had come to the eighteenth hole 
one up. All he needed here against his opponent was 
a halved hole to win the match. Playing this hole 
Ball was only twelve feet from the pin in two, while 
his rival was off the edge of the green. There 
seemed to be no chance for Ball to be beaten. He 
had a half at least sewed up. But in my entire golf 
career I don't believe I ever saw a man take as long 
for one shot as Ball's opponent did from the edge of 
the green. He must have taken at least five minutes, 
and it seemed like five hours before he was through. 

[233] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

He finally chipped up within three feet of the cup. 
By this time Ball had evidently become nervous over 
the long delay, for he putted only halfway, missed 
the next putt, lost the hole and then the match, on 
the nineteenth green. 

EVERYBODY DOES IT 

Yes, Mr. Smith, duffer, can take cheer in the 
thought that he isn't alone in this lack of nerve con- 
trol. He is not only not alone, but he is with the vast 
majority. Nothing so cheers the duffer as to see a 
star look up or miss an easy shot. It brings balm to 
his own case of nervous upsets and many misses. For 
no man is safe from an attack of nerves in golf. 

When Vardon and Ray tackled Ouimet at Brook- 
line, there is no question but that both Englishmen 
were absolutely confident before the tournament 
started. Both expected him to crack early. When 
Ouimet refused to crack, it was a great study in golfing 
psychology to watch the two English stars. Both 
began to develop cases of nerves at the tenth hole, 

[234] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

where each took three putts from within fair range of 
the cup. It was easy enough to imagine the range of 
their minds, and to imagine them saying: "What's 
this? I s it possible that we might be beaten by a young- 
ster that no one in England ever heard of before? It 
isn't possible! It can't be done! He's bound to crack. 
But heseemstobe getting better and better all thetime. 

And if he doesn't crack he may beat us, after all !" 
Ray was the first to crack, and the mighty Vardon 

followed him shortly afterward. In a nerve strain of 
that sort somebody had to crack, and since Ouimet 
didn't, the two great veterans did. This is a case 
that is hard to explain, for Vardon and Ray had the 
greater skill and the greater experience. But Oui- 
met on that occasion had such perfect control of 
his nerves that he was able to stand up where not 
even twp masters could hold the pace. 

NERVE VS. PHYSICAL MOULD 

There are times when nerves are mixed up with 
physical inability to stand the grind of a tournament. 

[235] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

The most striking example of this involves the case 
of John Graham, the greatest amateur player in the 
world. Graham is the world's greatest amateur, 
despite the fact that he has never won a British 
Championship. It isn't a case of nerves with him, 
but as he is slight and not physically strong he simply 
is worn down physically before the week is over, and 
is a total wreck by the finish. In a thirty-six-hole 
medal-play competition he would be the favoured one 
over the field, as he has repeatedly won big tourna- 
ments of this sort. But under the strain of match 
play he is so badly worn down that he is unable to 
sleep. It is a queer fact that Graham, the best shot 
maker and the best medal player of England, and 
Evans, the best shot maker and best medal player in 
America, among amateurs, have neither been able to 
win an Amateur Championship. Evans has never 
been able to develop proper concentration — to get 
full control of his nerves in the amateur blue ribbon. 
Evans is extremely nervous, and this in spite of his 
rare skill. For an attack of nerves plays no favourites. 

[236] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

It may hit the best golfer in the world as quickly as it 
strikes the twelve handicap man. 

If a star golfer, one who is experienced and a 
master of every shot in the bag, is unable to sleep the 
night before a tournament, and reaches the first tee 
haggard and nervous, how much more excuse is there 
for an average player, who takes his round just as 
seriously, but who knows that he hasn't the shots to 
back him up. 

EXPLAIN THIS 

Who can explain this situation? I have won four 
American Amateur Championships. I have been 
to the British Amateur twice, and have been elimi- 
nated both times in the first round. Evans is one 
of America's stars, but he has never got very far 
in England. Ouimet has won the Open and Ama- 
teur Championships of America, but was quickly put 
out in his English invasion. Yet Heinie Schmidt, 
not ranked among the first ten in the United States, 
goes over, and without any sign of a nervous upset, 

[237] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
goes into the sixth round and is beaten only when 
Hilton, the champion, sinks a twenty-foot putt on 
the nineteenth hole. Schmidt showed more cool- 
ness and greater steadiness than any other amateur, 
except Travis, ever showed in the British premier. 
There was not a flutter to a nerve in his body. He 
played better golf than he knew how under the 
supreme test. Yet two months later, at Garden 
City, in the qualifying round for the United States 
Golf Amateur Championship, he failed even to qualify 
among the first thirty-two through nervously playing 
a short approach into a deep trap guarding the green. 
All the psychologists in the world could never 
explain a temperamental shift of this sort. It is 
beyond the human understanding, and must simply 
take its place among the deep mysteries that sur- 
round the game. 

INTO THE WHITE HEAT 

Some time ago I was talking with one of the best 
golfers in the East. "Why is it," he asked, "that I 

[238] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

can play such low-scoring rounds in friendly matches, 
and have so much trouble in big tournaments? Is 
it lack of nerve, or what? " 

"Not at all," I said. "The answer is very simple. 
In your friendly rounds you never take your play 
with any great seriousness. You make no effort to 
concentrate. You play your shots naturally. There 
is nothing much at stake, and you have no curiosity 
that causes you to look up too quickly to see where 
the ball is going. This would be fine if you could 
maintain this same mental attitude in a big tourna- 
ment. But no living man can. And so, not being 
used to long concentration, the strain is too great." 

No golfer can jump from a series of carelessly 
played rounds into the white heat of a nerve-racking 
test and stand it as well as the golfer who has been 
training his mental attitude. 

golf's big four 

In golf four main ingredients are needed for tour- 
nament success: these are Skill, Temperament, Ex- 

[239] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

perience, and Luck. To allot each ingredient its 
percentage is a difficult task, but I would arrange the 
game's Big Four as follows: Skill, 50 per cent.; Tem- 
perament, 20 per cent.; Experience, 15 per cent.; 
Luck, 15 percent. 

We all know that skill is the ability to play the 
different shots, to drive, approach, and putt. We 
know what experience is, and we know what luck is. 

But again — just what is this temperament? Here 
it is that the psychologists and experts and stu- 
dents of the game all sadly differ. Some call it 
courage; others call it lack of nerves; others call it 
control of nerves. But no satisfactory definition 
has ever been offered. The best definition I know 
is: Golf temperament is control of nerves, which is 
easily understood, plus the mental attitude for any 
one day, which is a mystery. It is this mental at- 
titude for the day, this feeling that no man can tell 
on what day his game will be at its best or worst that 
causes all the trouble. 

Here is an example of the latter section of tempera- 

[240] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 
ment; i.e., mental attitude for the day. In the 
recent British Amateur Championship Harold Hilton 
had his hardest work cut out in the early part of 
the draw. Hilton, playing fine golf, won these early 
matches, and when he had defeated Harris it seemed 
that nothing could head him off from another cham- 
pionship. There was no golfer left supposed to be 
in his class. He should have had the feeling of ut- 
most confidence. Then he met Blackwell. In this 
match Blackwell was not playing any wonderful golf. 
But on the first green Hilton took three putts. And 
from that point on his putting and his short game 
simply got beyond his grip. He fought his best, but 
could not get going. Why? There was no answer. 
He had rested well the night before. He had been 
playing fine golf. He had no feeling of nervousness 
at the start. He was confident of winning, and yet 
not unduly overconfident, knowing that Blackwell 
was an experienced golfer. Blackwell offered no 
brilliant golf to bring on any dismay. And yet the 
best part of Hilton's game was suddenly wrecked. 

[241 ] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
STILL NO ANSWER 

No. Mr. Smith, duffer, has no reason to be de- 
pressed because his nerves are out of gear upon im- 
portant occasions. If he expected to play a ninety, 
and returned a one hundred and four, it was through 
no cowardice or lack of nerve. 

In 191 1 Hilton made his first visit to America, 
where the odds were all against him, and with fine con- 
trol of nerve won the championship from a big field. 

In 191 2 he came back, when the championship 
was held at Wheaton, Illinois. Here the odds were 
in his favour, for he had already made good and had 
experienced an American invasion the year before. 
But this time he was beaten in his first thirty-six-hole 
match by an almost unknown player in the ranking 
field, and largely because his game had suddenly 
got away from him on that day. It was not because 
he had not been playing well, because on the day 
before he had tied for the low score with Chick Evans 
in the qualifying round. 

[242] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 
THE CASE OF McDERMOTT 

Or, again, take the case of Jack McDermott, 
former American champion. Here was a golfer of 
rare skill, supreme confidence, and the soundest sort 
of nerve control. No one had ever been able to 
see a quiver in his golfing frame. Apparently his 
temperament was as wooden as the heart of an oak. 
He went to England and entered the British Open, 
and as America's greatest player he was expected 
to be well up with the field. He had played a 
practice round in seventy-one the day before when 
the preliminary round was started, what was Mc- 
Dermott's score? Seventy-one? Seventy-six? Or, 
say, ten strokes worse for an eighty-one? Not ex- 
actly! He returned a ninety-six, after one of the 
most wretched rounds of golf ever played in a big 
test. He had no control over any part of his game. 
No shot went right. And yet here was a golfer of 
wonderful temperament for match or medal play, 
and one possessing the rarest sort of skill and a fine 

[243] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

backing of tournament experience. When Vardon 
came over two years ago he was paired with Mc- 
Dermott in a medal-play round at Shawnee, and 
the young American played with amazing nerve 
and confidence, and led his great English rival by 
thirteen strokes at the end of the seventy-two-hole 
test. Yet in the other test he had failed miser- 
ably. 

BY WAY OF ENCOURAGEMENT 

These examples of illustrious failures in the way of 
nerve control are not offered in any way as criticism 
upon those mentioned, but simply for the encourage- 
ment of those who have become discouraged or de- 
pressed through great nervousness under fire. No 
one can tell the amount of actual mental suffering 
that develops in every golf tournament. And a good 
part of this is due to the fact that each player has a 
certain feeling of shame in his fall-down, believing 
that outsiders will charge his lack of nerve control to 
cowardice. He feels that he is being branded as a 

[244] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

quitter, and this helps spoil a big part of the pleasure 
to be derived from the game. 

In a certain tournament one prominent golfer was 
entered who had made a reputation as a great foot- 
ball player, and largely through his nerve and dash. 
There could be no question about the quality of his 
heart. In this tournament he was drawn against an 
opponent that he should have beaten, but who soon 
settled down to some steady golf. The football 
player then, on at least five greens, missed short 
putts of less than three feet. It was pitiful, for 
any one could see that his nerves were jumping in 
a dozen different directions. There was positive 
agony on his face, as he felt, after missing each putt, 
that he was being charged right and left by the gal- 
lery with having a yellow streak. 

Finally, when he had missed his fifth short putt, he 
could stand it no longer. Turning suddenly to the 
crowd he astonished the gallery by yelling out: "If 
any man here thinks I have a yellow streak, let him 
step out and I'll whip him with one hand/' He 

[245] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

knew in his heart that he wasn't a quitter, and yet for 
some inexplicable reason the evidence was so strong 
against him that he felt something must be done to 
prove his case. Every man who has played golf 
has had that great fear of being charged with cow- 
ardice or lack of nerve, because under certain tests 
his nervousness was so apparent that his game had 
gone to seed. 

The average player, of course, suffers more than 
any one else, as he hasn't the skill to fall back on, or 
the experience that will sometimes check a rush of 
nerves to the surface. But if he will only stop and 
remember that at some time or another every player 
in the game has lost his nerve control, that great 
stars with skill and experience to back them up have 
all broken badly at various occasions and have 
played like novices, there should be no reason for his 
discouragement. Surely if a Vardon, a Ray, a 
Ouimet, or an Evans can fall down under pressure 
here and there, Mr. William Smith, duffer, should not 
be over-depressed because he tops a mashie shot or 

[246] 



GOLF NERVE UNDER FIRE 

misses a short putt in some match that had jolted his 
nervous system out of fear. For in the broader 
sense it is not a question of courage, but merely 
of nerve control and the mysterious mental attitude 
that for one day may take any turn, and without 
offering the slightest warning as to which turn it 
will take. 



[247] 



THE ANCIENT AND ROYAL 

A far green trail and a wide blue sky, 

A clean white 'pill on a velvet lie; 

And then— for a cut shot dead to the pin 

And the thrill of a "three" as the putt drops in; 

As it goes " klupp-klupp" — 

In the old tin cup 

And the score card shows that you stand two up — 

Two up and the old home in sight — 

Some game? You said it — some game is right. 



But to-morrow comes with a sudden switch 
Where you miss your drive and you flub your pitch; 
Where you thump to the trap with a maudlin curse 
And your fourth shot out is a darned sight worse; 

i 248 ] 



THE ANCIENT AND ROYAL 

When you slice and top — 

When you schlaff and flop — 

When you hit the cup and the pill wont drop — 

When you stand six down with your soul aflame- 

Who said this smear was a regular game? 



[249] 



THE DUFFER TO THE PRO 

You've handed me the proper form, 

The proper stance and grip; 

You've shown me how to swing the wood 

And give the hall a flip; 

You've shown me how to hold my head 

And get the Follow Through — 

Now show me how to get around 

In Ninety One or Two. 

You've shown me how H. Vardon swings 

The driver from the tee; 

You've shown me how the shoulder works 

And eke the hip and knee; 

You've shown me how each club is used — 

To this, sir, I confess; 

Now show me how to play around 

In Ninety-Six — or less. 

[250] 



XII 

GOLF VS. BUSINESS 

IT IS generally understood that while a camel may 
plunge coyly through the eye of a needle, the 
assignment is by no means utterly devoid of 
complexity and a certain percentage of failure. 

But the needle task allotted to the camel is ab- 
surdly simple compared to the job which confronts 
the golf-playing business man in attempting to live a 
double life. 

A man involved in business — at least a business 
that absorbs a certain amount of time, labour, and 
worry — may play a very good game of golf — on oc- 
casions a very brilliant one — but it is only at rare 
intervals that he can carry the banner over champion- 
ship ramparts and range himself with the really elect. 

Golf helps business immensely, in that it furnishes 

[251] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
recreation and health for the tired business man. But 
this doesn't at all mean that business helps golf! 

Golf is a matter of two main essentials — form and 
concentration. The golfer, neck high in some in- 
tricate business, may maintain perfect form to the 
last flick of his club. But when one's mental attitude 
has been punctured, harassed, pummelled, thwarted, 
cross cut, scrambled, and detached, by a variety of 
business troubles, it belongs only to the superman to 
rearrange and readjust the aforesaid mental at- 
titude and focus it perfectly upon the task of play- 
ing a mashie over innumerable traps and bunkers to a 
small green surface 145 yards away. The business 
golfer may imagine that he has driven business cares 
and worries out of his brain, but subconsciously they 
are still a nagging force, diverting the eye from the 
ball or introducing a certain nervous tremor at ex- 
actly the wrong moment. 

This idea is not only true, but it should have a 
soothing effect upon the multitudes simultaneously 
engaged in business and golf. For it certainly is a 

[252] 



GOLF VS. BUSINESS 

wonderful alibi, which is the most precious possession 
a golfer can have. 

This last year a four times amateur champion 
decided to give most of his time to business as a 
member of the New York Stock Exchange. Those 
who knew golf said at once: "Good-bye to any more 
championships/' 

He felt exactly the same way. 

"To win a championship/' he said, "a man must 
give practically all of his time to golf through the 
playing season. As a side line it is still a fine thing, 
but no man can operate a side line into a champion- 
ship. It isn't being done/' 

But in this one instance he was wrong, as he proved 
himself later on. When H. Chandler Egan, the 
great western golfer, won two amateur titles, he was 
giving most of his time to golf. Later he entered 
business and dropped from the very top rank. 

Albert Seckel, the Princeton golfer who won the 
western amateur title one season and gave promise 
of being a permanent star, entered business soon 

[253] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

after leaving college, and his name is heard no 
more. 

Take again the case of Oswald Kirkby, Metro- 
politan and Jersey champion. In the spring — for 
two years — he has been able to devote a large amount 
of time to golf. In this way he has attached both 
the Metropolitan and Jersey Championships. But 
after May he has been forced to give up most of 
his time to business, with the result that while he is a 
very fine golfer, he has not been able to make any 
sort of showing in the Amateur Championships. We 
know of one prominent New York golfer, who in a 
fairly light and congenial business, played steadily 
in figures around 78 to 81. Later on he engaged in 
a business that was more nerve racking, and his 
scores immediately settled around 95. 

Nearly all golf championships are won by those 
who give their entire time to golf. When Travers 
was winning championships golf was the major part 
of his spring and summer life. Walter J. Travis, 
who has won the amateur title on three occasions, 

[254] 



GOLF VS. BUSINESS 

is editor of a golf magazine and gives most of his 
time to the game during every month in the year. 

Francis Ouimet is connected, in a business way, 
with a sporting-goods house, and golf is a big part of 
his life. 

"Chick" Evans, the great western player, is in 
the bond business, but he also writes golf for a daily 
paper, helps edit a golf magazine, and gives a big 
portion of his time to the game. 

The two most eminent British amateurs of recent 
years are Harold Hilton and John Ball, who between 
them have won twelve championships. Hilton is 
editor of a golf magazine, and Ball conducts a hotel 
by the side of a golf course. For both of these men 
golf has been the main business of their careers. 

The professional plays fine golf because golf is his 
very existence. He has nothing else to do — or 
think about. Jack McDermott, twice American 
Open Champion, attempted to engage in an outside 
business venture and his game went to pieces within 
a few months. 

[255] 



THE WINNING SHOT 

Golf is more a matter of concentration or co- 
ordination of mental faculties than anything else — 
that and eternal practice. It is a matter of rhythm 
and proper timing of stroke, details that develop 
from coordination of mind and muscle. So, when 
Business raises its scarred and seamy head between 
the golfer and his game, it acts as a perfect stymie. 

The business man who tops his drive and flubs his 
approach can at least take consolation in the knowl- 
edge that he has fallen with the greatest stars of the 
game — champions until they exchanged the cleek 
for the fountain pen, or the brassie for the mahogany 
desk. 

Too often the business man can't understand this 
situation. He can't understand why certain lapses 
should beset his game and deprive him of steadiness. 
But this is because concentration for him is often an 
effort, whereas for such golfers as Ouimet and Travis 
and Hilton and Ball and others, concentration on golf 
is a matter of course — a habit of long standing. 
These are not forced to make any effort to concen- 

[256] 



GOLF VS. BUSINESS 

trate — as concentration upon each shot takes good 
care of itself the greater part of the time where these 
veterans are concerned. 

A FREQUENT MISTAKE 

These unnumbered golfers engrossed in business 
cares and worries and entangled in the art of making 
a living would find a quick improvement to their 
general play if they practised the system of less de- 
liberation. If you will notice the majority of these 
around almost any golf course, you will see how un- 
necessarily slow most of them are. 

This doesn't mean that a golf shot should ever be 
hurried or rushed. But neither should the golfer 
take so much time over the ball that he becomes 
rigid and taut, with all elasticity gone. There is 
nothing to be gained by standing like a statue until 
every muscle in the body has become like a piece of 
wood, and an early lack of confidence settles into a 
deadly conviction that shot is going wrong. 

The business man, especially, should make it a 

[257] 



THE WINNING SHOT 
point to play along at a steady, even clip, and waste 
no more time than is necessary in getting the ball 
away. He will find that this method makes the 
matter of concentration much simpler. And of all 
who play, the business or professional man, with 
nerves close to the surface, can least afford to let his 
temper take control after a bad shot. For if nerves 
that have been at a quiver part of the day are not 
held in check during recreation, it is easy enough to 
see what a wreck there will be, not only of one's game 
— but of one's enjoyment and pleasure. 

THE END 



[258] 



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